#and just let this be a personal thing for personal projects

[skzophreniic]

⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content, exes to lovers, mutual masturbation , penetrative sex, creampie, crying during sex, pet anxiety, mentions of pregnancy, artist!hyunjin, mdni

notes: in which your situationship ex hyunjin from college asks you to watch his dog for the week--and things spiral from there.

You almost don’t answer.

Your phone buzzes across the table, skittering like a beetle over the wood, and you glance at the screen with the reflex of someone who doesn’t expect surprises anymore.

Hyunjin. The name glows up at you, unfamiliar only in the way it makes your stomach twist—like a song you haven’t heard in years but still remember every lyric to.

It’s been months since you last spoke. Maybe a year since you last saw him. A coffee meetup that turned into wandering aimlessly through the park, talking like nothing had ever gone wrong between you, except it had. That night ended with a long hug and a promise to keep in touch that neither of you kept.

And now he’s calling.

You stare at the screen for another ring. Then another.

Then you answer.

“...Hello?”

There’s a beat of silence, just long enough to make you wonder if he hung up, and then:

“Hey,” he says, breathless like he’d been holding it. “Sorry—sorry to call out of nowhere. I didn’t know who else to ask.”

His voice hasn’t changed. Still soft in a way that wraps around your ribs. Still threaded with that low, careful tension like he’s always thinking five things at once and only saying one.

You shift in your seat, heart suddenly too loud in your chest.

“Okay,” you say slowly, warily. “What’s going on?”

A soft rustle comes through the line—maybe the jingle of keys, maybe his bracelets sliding against his wrist. You picture him pacing his apartment, the same way he used to during finals week, lip caught between his teeth, hair tucked behind one ear.

“I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important,” he says. “And I get that it’s weird. Us not talking, and then—me dropping this on you.”

You glance toward the window, try not to let your voice shake. “What is this, exactly?”

He hesitates. “I have to leave the city. It’s an art residency. Last-minute. It’s… big.”

Your stomach twists again, but this time it’s sharper. Of course it’s big. Hyunjin was always meant for something more.

You lean back in your chair, eyes tracing the rain sliding down the windowpane like it’s trying to draw an answer for you. A part of you wants to ask where he's going, what the project is, if he’s excited—because of course he is, he always was, always buzzing with vision and color and a kind of hunger you never could name. But that part of you lives behind a glass wall now. You’re not sure you’re allowed to tap on it.

So you don’t ask. You swallow the words like coins dropped into a well—silent, swallowed, never coming back up.

“I’m happy for you,” you say instead, and it’s almost true. “You deserve it.”

Hyunjin exhales, and for a second you wonder if he’s smiling. “Thanks. That means more than you probably think.”

It shouldn't. But you don’t say that either.

“I wouldn’t call if I didn’t really need the help,” he adds, voice dipping a little lower now, like he’s bracing for the ask to land wrong. “It’s Kkami. My sitter canceled last minute, and everyone else is either busy or allergic. You were the only person I thought of who could handle him.”

You laugh softly, mostly out of disbelief. “Handle him? Hyun, your dog hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Hyunjin says, though there’s something too quick in his defense, too breathless—like maybe he’s trying to convince himself. “He’s just... territorial.”

You huff a dry laugh. “Yeah, I remember. He tried to piss on my jeans.”

“That was one time.”

“Twice.”

“Okay, but in his defense, they smelled like me.”

You pause. The silence that follows is sharp and sudden, the kind that cuts deep and clean. It’s the kind of silence that remembers.

Because those jeans had smelled like him—after that night. The last one. The one where he’d backed you against the wall of your own bedroom with his fingers still wet from your mouth, where he’d said things he probably didn’t mean and kissed you like he hated how much he did.

The night you both decided—without saying it—that it was over. That whatever “thing” had been pulsing between you wasn’t something either of you could hold without bleeding.

And yet. Here you are. Picking at it like a scab that never healed right.

Your throat works around the memory before your voice does. You don’t say anything at first—just sit there, hand wrapped too tightly around your phone, eyes fixed on some vague point on the wall like if you don’t move, it won’t reach you. Like you can’t still feel him, breath hot against your neck, hands fisting in your sheets, mouth tracing every soft part of you like he was trying to memorize the map of a place he had no business returning to.

He clears his throat on the other end, and it sounds like guilt. Or maybe longing. You’ve always had trouble telling the difference when it came to him.

“Look,” Hyunjin says, quieter now. “I wouldn’t be asking if I had another option. Kkami doesn’t do well with new spaces, and I can’t board him. He’s too anxious, and if he’s not with someone he knows, he’ll make himself sick.”

You finally speak, though your voice is thin. “So you want me to stay at yours.”

A beat. Then—“Yeah.”

Just like that. No sugarcoating. No backpedaling. Just Hyunjin, honest and bare in the way he always was once he stopped pretending not to feel everything at once.

You run a hand down your face. “Hyun, we haven’t talked in almost a year.”

“I know.”

“You haven’t even seen me since—”

“I know.”

He’s not angry, not defensive. Just… raw. Like the words are scraping him on the way out. You can hear the scrape.

“I didn’t think I’d ever call you again,” he admits. “I thought that was the deal. But when they offered me this residency, and I realized I had to leave tonight—you’re the only person I could trust. With him. With my home.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, hard enough to taste the coppery edge of restraint.

His home.

It’s stupid, really. How easy it is to fall back into this rhythm. How even now, after all the months, all the distance, he can still lace your name with history. You’d been friends once. Kind of. You’d laughed a lot, touched a lot, fucked even more—on couches, against doors, in the low hush of early morning when everything was tender and wrong. It was always supposed to be temporary. Temporary, but all-consuming.

But the feelings crept in like rot through the walls. And neither of you were brave enough to call it love, so you called it off instead. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you say, but even you don’t sound convinced.

“I’ll wash the sheets,” he jokes weakly.

You laugh, soft and involuntary, the sound catching somewhere in your throat. It’s not really about the sheets.

It never was.

And the silence that follows—god, it aches. Not sharp like the aftermath of a fight, but dull and lingering, like a bruise you don’t remember getting. Like a conversation left open on a table, gathering dust.

You clear your throat. “What time’s your flight?”

“Late,” he says. “But I still have to pack a few pieces and drop off the canvases. It’ll be tight.”

“Do you need help?” The words are out before you can catch them. You curse yourself immediately for the softness in your voice.

He hesitates. “No. It’s fine. Just—just the dog. That’s all I need help with.”

Right. The dog.

You glance at your calendar. Clear. Of course it’s clear.

Of course the universe decided to leave space for this.

“Alright,” you murmur. “Just send me the code. I’ll stay at yours. It’s fine.”

“You don’t have to bring anything,” he rushes to say, and it’s like he’s trying to compensate for the ask with over-kindness. “I washed the old blanket. The one you used to crash under on the couch. It’s still there.”

Your fingers tighten around your phone.

He doesn’t mention that the last time you slept under that blanket, you were still tangled in him. Half-dressed. Half-drunk on him. That he pulled it over your hips after, when you were too spent to move, and he kissed your shoulder like he wanted to stay but didn’t know how.

You don’t bring it up either.

Instead, you breathe out slow. “Cool. I’ll head over in an hour or two.”

“Okay.”

Neither of you say I missed you.

Neither of you say This is weird.

Neither of you say Is this going to break us again?

Instead, Hyunjin adds quietly, “I’ll leave a note.”

“For the dog?”

“For you.”

You close your eyes.

“Okay.”

He doesn’t say goodbye. Just… hangs up.

And you let the dial tone ring for a few seconds longer than you should, like maybe he’ll change his mind. Like maybe you will.

But the silence stays.

And when you finally move, dragging out your overnight bag and stuffing it half-heartedly with essentials, you can’t stop thinking about the smell of his apartment. The way the floor creaks by the hallway. The coffee mugs he used to leave near the sink, rimmed with paint. The pictures he never hung. The sketchbook that held a drawing of you in fading graphite—one he never knew you found.

You wonder if it’s still there.

You wonder what else of you is.

The building hasn’t changed.

You hate that you notice. Hate that your fingers still know the keycode before you even read the text. Hate that the elevator creaks on the same floor. That the hallway smells like turmeric and old wood and the trace of him—Hyunjin, in incense and paint and something vaguely sweet.

His apartment door is unlocked, just like he promised. A sticky note is taped to the front, scrawled in the quick, crooked handwriting you used to recognize across lecture halls and grocery lists alike.

“Come in. He’s dramatic, not dangerous. Don’t let him guilt trip you.” —H.

You roll your eyes and open the door.

It looks the same. Lived-in, messy in a way that’s curated. An art book cracked open on the coffee table. Two mugs in the sink. One of his hoodies flung across the back of the couch like he wore it last night. And maybe he did.

You hear the growl before you see him.

Kkami stands in the middle of the living room, ears pinned back, hackles raised, tail stiff like an accusation. He looks you dead in the eye and lets out a snarl so pointed you actually step back.

“Oh, fuck off,” you mutter, tugging your bag higher on your shoulder. “We’ve been over this.”

He growls again. Louder.

You raise your hands. “I come in peace.”

He barks.

You take a careful step inside, nudging the door shut behind you. Kkami follows your every move like you’re an intruder in a palace he was knighted to protect. 

“I’m not stealing your shit,” you tell the dog. “I’m just crashing here. Ask your absentee father.”

Kkami doesn’t find it funny.

You inch toward the kitchen, where Hyunjin’s written schedule sits neatly beside two bowls—one for food, one for water. Both full. Fresh.

You glance at the clock. He’s probably already at the airport. Maybe already boarding. Maybe looking down at the city through a plane window, tapping his fingers against the glass like he always did when he was anxious. You wonder if he thought about calling you again. You wonder if he’s relieved you didn’t call him first.

Kkami lets out a soft, pitiful whine behind you. When you turn, he’s sitting but tense, eyes never leaving you. Suspicious. Wounded. Territorial, like Hyunjin said.

“Jesus, you’re worse than him,” you sigh.

A folded slip of paper catches your eye. It’s tucked under the magnet shaped like a paintbrush on the fridge. Your name is written across the front.

Your throat tightens.

You don’t open it. Not yet.

You drop your bag by the couch and finally take a seat, letting the quiet settle around you. The apartment hums with memory. You used to sit here wrapped in his hoodie, eating leftover tteokbokki at midnight, legs draped across his lap while he rubbed lazy circles into your shin. You used to kiss in this corner. Fuck in this corner. Sleep in the bed down the hall like it meant nothing, even when it meant too much.

Kkami barks once—sharp and offended—then hops up onto the other end of the couch and curls into a tight, annoyed little donut.

“Truce?” you offer.

He sneezes. Well then.

You sigh and reach for your phone. Maybe you can FaceTime Hyunjin later. Let the dog see him. Hear him. Maybe that’ll help.

Or maybe it’ll make everything worse.

You glance over at the folded blanket. The place where you used to lay your head.

And wonder how long it’ll take for this place to feel empty without him in it.

You don’t sleep well that first night.

Kkami stays curled at the farthest edge of the bed like he’s punishing you, his little back turned, ears twitching at every shift you make beneath the sheets. He doesn’t bark, but he lets out these occasional, theatrical sighs—deep, betrayed, bone-deep things—like you’ve committed the ultimate offense by existing where Hyunjin should be.

You get it.

You feel it too.

In the morning, you wake before the sun finishes rising. The air in the apartment is cold, the kind of cold that seeps into your joints, your thoughts, the hollow behind your ribs. You drag Hyunjin’s blanket from the couch and wrap yourself in it, settle on the floor near the window with a mug of instant coffee that tastes like cardboard and nostalgia.

Kkami watches you from the kitchen doorway, still suspicious.

“Do you have a schedule, or are we just winging it?” you ask him.

He sneezes and turns his head. No comment.

The hours pass slow. You walk him—twice. He barks at a bus, growls at a stroller, and refuses to let you tie his leash to the bench while you grab a coffee from the corner place Hyunjin used to love. You wind up going without.

At noon, you wander the apartment, not touching anything but looking at everything. A half-finished canvas still rests on the easel in the corner. It’s abstract—something celestial, maybe. Blue and smoke and gold bleeding together like bruises in motion. You don’t know if it’s new. You don’t ask.

You think about texting him. Just something simple. He misses you already. Or He hasn’t peed on anything today. But the words feel too light. Too personal. You settle for:

12:31 PM — [You]: he ate most of his food. drank a lot of water too. no accidents.

The read receipt comes instantly. His reply is a few minutes later:

12:36 PM — [Hyunjin]: thank you <3

The heart curls in your chest. You close the app.

You make pasta for dinner and Kkami doesn’t touch his kibble until you sit beside him on the floor and pretend to eat a piece. Then he snarfs it all down like he’s proving a point.

That night, he won’t sleep again. He whines. He paces. He jumps down from the bed and runs to the door, then back again. Tail twitching. Eyes darting.

When you try to pet him, he flinches like he’s expecting a trick. You sit on the floor again, cross-legged in Hyunjin’s oversized hoodie (you told yourself you brought it by accident), and say softly, “He’s not here. It’s just me.”

He whines again. Low and pitiful.

“Me too,” you whisper.

You glance toward the kitchen. Toward the fridge. That little slip of paper still waits, untouched beneath the magnet shaped like a paintbrush. Your name in his handwriting. Like a bruise. Like a dare.

You haven’t opened it. Not yet.

You slept on the couch.

Not because the bed wasn’t made—Hyunjin had even tucked in the corners, left a glass of water on the nightstand like he thought about what you’d need—but because you couldn’t bring yourself to crawl into the same sheets you used to wake up tangled in. Not when the scent of him still lived in the pillowcases. Not when the memory of his hands on your bare back still lingered in the seams of the duvet.

So you curled up under the old blanket instead, the one you used to steal during lazy afternoons and Netflix half-watched kisses and accepted the fact that your neck was going to ache in the morning. Kkami refused to join you. He spent most of the night pacing between the door and the hallway, growling at shadows.

The second night is worse.

Kkami is inconsolable. He won’t eat. Won’t lie down. Won’t stop pacing between the front door and the window like he’s waiting for Hyunjin to materialize from thin air. At one point, he noses Hyunjin’s shoes—left by the entryway—and lets out a sound so hollow and pitiful it actually makes your eyes sting.

You try everything. Treats. Music. White noise. The blanket that still smells like Hyunjin’s shampoo. But nothing works. It’s like something inside him is unraveling, the cord pulled too tight and fraying with every hour he doesn’t see the one person he’s built his little world around.

Same, you think bitterly, and feel stupid for it.

You end up sitting on the kitchen floor around midnight, your legs numb, your patience thinner than it’s been in weeks. Kkami’s resting his chin on his paws but still letting out this tiny, high-pitched whine every few seconds, like he’s trying not to cry but can’t help it.

And that sound—god, that sound shatters something in you.

You sigh, rub your face with both hands, and reach for your phone.

12:04 AM — [You]: he won’t sleep. he’s been crying for an hour. won’t eat either.

You don’t expect him to reply. Not at this hour, not while he’s halfway across the country doing Important Artist Things.

But your screen lights up with an incoming FaceTime call within seconds.

Your heart drops into your stomach.

You hesitate. Just for a second.

Then answer.

And for the first time in nearly a year, you see him.

Hyunjin’s face fills the screen—soft-lit and sleepy, hoodie bunched around his neck like he’d just been getting ready for bed. But it’s not just the setting that throws you. It’s him.

The long hair you used to run your fingers through—gone. All of it. In its place: a buzzcut. Clean, close, severe in a way that shouldn’t suit him but somehow does. It makes his features sharper, more present. Like there’s nothing to hide behind anymore.

You blink. You don’t mean to stare, but the shock is immediate, visceral.

“Hi,” he says, quiet.

You swallow. “Hi.”

He sits up straighter. “Is he okay?”

You shift the camera toward Kkami, who immediately perks up. His ears shoot up like radar, and he lets out a small, startled bark before beelining to your lap—bumping his snout into the phone like he’s trying to crawl through it.

Hyunjin laughs. It’s breathless. Disbelieving.

“God, he’s dramatic.”

“He gets it from you,” you mutter.

Kkami presses against your chest like he’s trying to bury himself in your heart, finally calm now, finally still. You stroke a hand down his back and try not to think about the fact that it took Hyunjin’s voice to soothe him.

You glance at the screen again. Hyunjin’s watching you, not Kkami.

There’s a beat where neither of you speak. The only sound is Kkami’s soft breathing and the low hum of the city outside the window.

Then, gently:

“I left you something,” he says.

You swallow. “I know.”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d find it.”

“I did.”

“You gonna open it?”

You glance toward the fridge. The note still waits, tucked under the paintbrush magnet like a secret too fragile to touch.

“Not yet,” you say.

And he doesn’t push. Just nods. “Okay.”

Kkami shifts closer to your thigh and exhales, finally resting his chin on your knee. You pet him with one hand, still holding the phone in the other.

“He’s sleeping now,” you whisper.

“So are you.”

You blink. “What?”

“Your eyes,” he says. “They do that thing. The little flutter when you’re about to crash.”

You’re too tired to argue. Too tired to ask why he remembers that.

“I’ll hang up,” he offers.

You don’t say no.

You just murmur, “Goodnight, Hyun.”

And you hear the softness in his voice as he says it back:

“Goodnight.”

You don’t sleep much better that night.

But Kkami doesn’t cry again.

The next few days fall into a strange kind of rhythm—quiet, off-kilter, but somehow soothing in the way old routines can be, even when they’re made of things that weren’t meant to last.

Kkami still hates you by daylight.

He growls when you walk into the room. Barks when you open the fridge. Refuses to eat unless you pretend not to look. He doesn’t let you pet him unless he’s half-asleep or tricked by a treat, and he definitely doesn’t let you forget that this is his house, his couch, his missing person.

But at night, when Hyunjin calls, it’s like a switch flips.

Kkami leaps into your lap the moment the ringtone echoes through the apartment. He curls there, fast and warm and trembling just slightly, like he’s spent all day building tension he doesn’t know how to unspool without Hyunjin’s voice in the room.

You always answer on the couch, blanket pulled tight around your shoulders, phone propped up against a half-full glass of water. Hyunjin always looks a little tired, a little flushed from wherever he’s just come back from—a gallery tour, a studio session, a walk through some city that doesn’t have your footprints on its sidewalks.

He tells you about the art residency. The gallery director who makes coffee that tastes like battery acid. The studio space—wide and cold and full of light. He tells you about a piece he’s working on: abstract, rough, loud in a way he hasn’t painted in years.

“You’d hate it,” he laughs, voice crackling faintly through the call. “It’s all jagged lines. Chaos. I think it’s about… hunger. Or maybe grief. I don’t know.”

“I never hated your work,” you say.

Hyunjin quiets. Then, low:

“You hated what it did to me.”

Your breath catches.

Because he’s right.

You did.

You hated the way he disappeared into it—into himself—those long stretches of silence when he wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t touch you unless it was desperate and fleeting, like he was chasing the ghost of something he could never quite hold. You hated the way he used his own pain like paint thinner, diluted himself until all that was left was color on canvas and a shell of the boy you used to fall asleep beside.

But you don’t say that.

You just sit there, curled on his couch in his hoodie you’ve stolen from his drawer, your phone glowing in the soft hush of midnight.

“I hated how much it hurt you,” you say instead. “That’s not the same thing.”

Hyunjin nods slowly, his lips pressed into a line. “No. It’s not.”

Kkami shifts in your lap, stretching a little, his snout nudging your elbow before he sighs and drifts deeper into sleep. You stroke his fur absently, eyes still locked on the screen, on Hyunjin’s face—the new angles of it, the way the buzzcut makes him look older, sharper, like a wound that finally scabbed over.

He watches you for a while. Then murmurs, “I was scared to call you.”

You smile, tired and small. “I figured.”

“I thought you’d say no. That you wouldn’t even answer.”

“I almost didn’t.”

His throat bobs. “Why’d you say yes?”

You don’t answer right away.

Because it’s not just about the dog. Not just about the key he left under the stairs or the food already stocked or the note still waiting on the fridge like a breath you’re not ready to exhale.

You look at him. Really look.

And when you speak, it’s quiet. Honest.

“Because I missed you. Even when I hated missing you.”

The silence after is different this time.

He blinks. His mouth parts like he’s going to say something, but all that comes out is a whisper.

“Fuck.”

You let out a laugh—dry, breathless. “Yeah.”

He shifts on the screen, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “You still sleep on the couch?”

“Every night.”

“Why?”

“Because the bed remembers more than I’m ready to.”

His eyes flicker. He nods once. Like he understands. Like he hasn’t been sleeping either.

Another pause. Then—

“I dream about you,” he says.

And it’s not a confession. It’s a bruise. Something he’s been pressing on in the dark just to see if it still hurts.

You blink. “Hyun—”

“Not just the sex,” he adds, voice hoarse. “Though… yeah. That too. A lot, actually.”

You glance away, heat creeping up your neck. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I want to,” he says. “I want you to know I still—”

He cuts himself off. Breathes out hard. Shakes his head.

Kkami stirs in your lap, shifting slightly. The air feels too tight suddenly, the silence too loud.

You focus on Kkami. On the slow rise and fall of his small body, the way his paws twitch in sleep like he’s chasing something warm. It grounds you—barely.

Hyunjin exhales on the other end of the line. You can hear it, soft and ragged, the kind of breath that holds everything he didn’t say. Everything he still might.

You don’t speak. Not yet. Because what could you say? I still touch myself to the thought of you? I still wear your hoodie like armor when I can’t sleep? I still think about that night on the floor when we couldn’t stop, even though we knew it was already over?

None of it would come out right.

So instead, you keep your voice even when you ask, “Do you paint me?”

The question slips out before you can stop it. You don't even know why you asked it. Maybe its because you're so sleepy you can't filter you're thoughts. Maybe because he mentioned it once, over soggy cereal over the golden morning light that filtered through the blinds, over the laughter you've never quite had again.

Hyunjin stills.

On the screen, he doesn’t look shocked. He looks… worn. Like someone who’s been carrying the answer around for a while and doesn’t know where to put it.

“I try not to,” he says eventually. Quiet. Careful. “But you always end up there.”

Your breath falters. You nod slowly, like that’s an answer you expected—because it is. Because you knew. Somehow, you always knew.

You shift the phone slightly, angle it so he can see the window behind you. The dark skyline. The reflection of the room, soft and gold and full of ghosts. Your voice is steadier than you feel when you say, “I haven’t opened it.”

“I know,” he replies, just as soft.

“I want to. But…”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I think I need more time.”

“Take it,” he murmurs. “I left it because I had to, not because I needed anything back.”

You nod. Not that he can see it—not really. But somehow, you think he feels it anyway.

“Okay,” you say. It's the only thing you can manage that doesn’t crack under its own weight.

A pause stretches between you. Soft. Not cold. Just full. Like the breath before a confession. Like the second before a kiss.

Kkami snores lightly, curled deeper into your lap now, his whole body lax with trust. You glance down at him, stroke a thumb between his ears, then look back at the screen.

Hyunjin’s still watching you. Not the dog. Not the view.

Just you.

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” he murmurs, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You shrug, suddenly shy. “Didn’t pack enough layers.”

“I knew you’d steal something,” he says, teasing, but low—like he's remembering the way you used to steal everything from him. His clothes. His time. His breath.

“You left the drawer cracked open on purpose.”

“Maybe.”

His smile softens into something quieter. More real.

“I used to love seeing you in my stuff,” he adds. “Used to come home and hope you’d be there. Curled up in it. Pretending to wait for me.”

You swallow. It’s harder than it should be. “I wasn’t pretending.”

Hyunjin blinks slowly. Like that hit him somewhere unexpected. Somewhere tender.

And then, quietly, almost afraid to hope: “Are you still?”

You could lie. You could deflect. But instead, you meet his eyes through the screen.

“I haven’t been with anyone else.”

His jaw works. “Neither have I.”

The words land between you like a marker—drawing a line not to separate, but to measure distance. And maybe the distance isn’t as wide as you thought.

Your fingers curl a little tighter in Kkami’s fur.

“I should go to bed,” you say. Your voice is quiet. A little raw.

“Okay,” Hyunjin whispers. “Me too.”

But neither of you move. The seconds tick by. You don’t even blink.

Eventually, he says, “Tomorrow night. Can I call again?”

You let out a soft breath, not quite a laugh. “Hyun… you’ve been calling every night.”

His smile doesn’t fade, but it shifts—tilts into something deeper. Less playful. More certain.

“I know,” he says. “But that was for Kkami.”

You blink. “And tomorrow?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. Not once.

“That’s for you.”

It knocks the wind out of you a little, the way he says it. Not romantic. Not dramatic. Just simple. True. Like he’s only just letting himself say it out loud, but he’s known it all along.

Your throat tightens. “Oh.”

Hyunjin watches you carefully. “Is that okay?”

You nod once. “Yeah. It’s… more than okay.”

Something in his posture loosens then, like he’s been holding a breath he can finally let go of. His shoulders drop. His mouth twitches again, a smile fighting its way to the surface but not quite forming—like he’s still afraid to want too much, to hope too fast.

You don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Not really.

But you know you’ll answer.

And maybe this time you’ll stop pretending it’s for the dog.

“You’re on the bed.”

Hyunjin says it the moment the screen connects. No hello. No lead-up. Just those four words, soft and low and unmistakably aware.

You blink at him from where you’re sitting, back pressed to the headboard, knees pulled up beneath the comforter. His comforter.

You almost lie. Almost say you were just passing through. That the light was better in here. That Kkami stole the couch.

But Hyunjin’s already smiling—slow and knowing, like he’s been waiting for this.

You exhale through your nose. “Kkami’s on the couch.”

“Mm,” he hums, a little amused. “So it’s just you in my bed.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone, feeling a little flustered. “Is that going to be a problem?”

His eyes darken a shade, but the smile stays. “Not even a little.”

You roll onto your side, careful not to let the phone slip. The sheets are warm beneath you, still smelling faintly like cedar and fabric softener and something only he ever carried. His presence is everywhere in this room. On the walls. In the folded clothes. Under your skin.

Hyunjin shifts on his end of the call—he’s propped up on pillows, a fitted black tank clinging to his chest, the cut of it leaving little to the imagination. His toned arms are on full display, lean muscle catching the dim light, subtle and sculpted like something sketched in charcoal. His expression is unreadable, caught somewhere between reverence and restraint.

“I thought about you today,” he says after a beat.

You tuck your face into the pillow, just a little. “Like you usually do?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “But this time I didn’t fight it.”

Your heart thuds against your ribs, slow and heavy. “What were you thinking?”

His gaze dips, like he’s shy all of a sudden. “That I miss you. That I used to wake up to you in that bed.”

You swallow, voice thinner now. “It’s a little colder without you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The silence that follows is different from all the others before it. It’s thick. Electric. It hums with all the things neither of you have said but haven’t stopped feeling. The kind of silence that shifts when the air gets warmer, when the breath starts catching, when the ache finally starts to slip through.

Hyunjin wets his lips. His voice is barely a whisper. “You look good there.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I feel... restless.”

He shifts again, almost imperceptibly. “Tell me.”

Your gaze flickers. “Tell you what?”

“What you’re thinking. Right now.”

You hesitate.

But then, softly, deliberately: “I was thinking about your hands.”

Hyunjin’s mouth parts slightly.

“I was thinking about how you used to touch me here,” you say, dragging your fingers over the blanket, slow, just below your collarbone. “And here.” Down, lower now, to the place between your ribs.

His breath stutters through the speaker.

“And I was wondering…” you murmur, voice barely above a hum, “if you miss the way I used to say your name when you touched me like that.”

Hyunjin closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, they’re dark, focused, hungry.

“I think about it all the time,” he says. “Every fucking night.”

Your thighs press together under the blanket. You feel your pulse everywhere—behind your knees, in your fingertips, between your legs. It’s not even about the sex. Not yet. It’s about the weight of being wanted by someone who remembers you—who still remembers.

“I haven’t touched anyone else,” you say.

He swallows hard. “Don’t.”

“I don’t want to.”

Hyunjin nods slowly. “Me either.”

Then, quiet: “Can I stay on the call?”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he says, voice rough now, “if I asked you to touch yourself… would you let me watch?”

Your breath catches. Not from nerves. From need.

You don’t say yes. You just let the phone settle against the pillow beside you, angled toward your face, the way he used to tilt your chin when he wanted a better look at how undone you were.

The sheets shift as your hand moves lower.

Hyunjin watches. And when he speaks, it’s barely a whisper, like he’s already somewhere far beneath the surface with you.

“Fuck. You always looked so pretty like this.”

You inhale shakily, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts, slow and careful, testing the heat already gathered there.

Hyunjin’s eyes drag down your body. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips. His voice is rough with memory.

“Remember that time on the floor? After your exam? You were so out of it—barely undressed. I just shoved your panties to the side and made you come in, what, two minutes?”

You let out a quiet, choked sound at the back of your throat.

He smiles—crooked, dark. “Yeah. You clenched so hard around my fingers I thought I’d lose them.”

You whimper softly. Your hand moves slow, wet, dragging through the mess of your own need, slick pooling beneath your fingertips like your body remembers him even better than your mind does.

“God, that sound,” Hyunjin breathes. “That little gasp when you’re just starting to touch yourself. Same one you made when I used to run my fingers down your stomach—real slow, just to watch you twitch.”

You press harder against your clit, circles tightening, mouth falling open as your back arches into the memory. He’s not even touching you, and still—your body bends like it’s learned him by muscle memory.

Hyunjin notices. Of course he does.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice gone low and ragged, the kind that scrapes the inside of your throat just hearing it. “All spread out in my bed. Fucking yourself open with your hand like you want me to see everything. Like you know I used to make you feel better than anyone else ever could.”

You moan, breath catching, and Hyunjin’s smile sharpens.

“Touch your tits,” he says, not as a command—but a conjuring. Like he already knows you’re aching for it. “Lift your shirt for me.”

You obey without a sound, pushing the hem up slowly, just enough to expose the curve of one breast, the soft point of your nipple hard and aching from the friction of your shirt.

He groans. “You remember how obsessed I was with your tits? Couldn’t stop sucking on them. Couldn’t stop biting.” His jaw clenches. “You used to beg me to be gentle. And then beg me not to stop.”

Your fingers slide down again—slippery, desperate. Your thighs shake under the weight of it. The rhythm is messier now, your hips chasing pressure. Hyunjin watches all of it, his hand dragging down his torso, disappearing beneath his waistband.

“Touching yourself in my bed,” he growls. “Wearing my shirt. Letting me watch while you make yourself come for me.”

He’s panting now, hand working slow, deliberate strokes beneath the screen. His tank top clings to his chest, sweat beading along his collarbones. His buzzed hair is messy, sticking slightly to his forehead, and his mouth—his fucking mouth—is red and parted, like he’s still tasting you.

“You remember the way I used to fuck you from behind?” he says. “Pushed your face into the mattress, held your hips like you’d run from me if I let go?”

You whimper—your fingers falter, then speed up.

“Could barely breathe, baby. You’d just sob into the sheets. You loved it. Took every inch, crying like you couldn’t handle it—and still begged for more.”

Your body goes taut, heels digging into the mattress, orgasm hovering just out of reach.

Hyunjin's voice drops to a growl, breath quick and filthy. “Bet your pussy’s fucking tight right now. Clenching like it forgot what it’s supposed to take—like it’s trying to remember the shape of my cock.”

He groans, low and wrecked. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll teach it again. I’ll stretch you open so slow you feel it for days. Won’t stop ‘til you’re dripping all over my sheets, crying into the pillow, begging for more.”

You whimper his name—helpless. Shattered.

“You want me to say it?” Hyunjin pants, fist working now, muscles flexing. “Want me to tell you how I’d do it?”

You nod, frantic. Desperate.

His voice turns molten. Thick with lust, arrogance, something cruel and beautiful.

“I’d start slow. Tease you with just the tip. Let you feel the stretch, let you beg for the rest of it. Then I’d give you all of it at once—deep, hard. Just to see you fucking cry.”

You do cry out. The tension in your body snaps tighter, hips lifting off the bed, toes curling. So close.

“I’d fuck you into the mattress,” he growls. “Grip your hips and slam into you so hard you’d lose your voice. You remember how I’d do that? Say, ‘You’re not done yet, baby. You can take it.’ And you always fucking would.”

You’re whimpering now, moaning into your own shoulder to muffle the sound, fingers moving in slippery, filthy rhythm. The orgasm’s close—so close—spooling at the base of your spine, hot and tight and relentless.

“Oh, fuck, there it is,” he gasps, fucking into his fist now, stroking faster. “You’re close. I can see it—hear it. Just like that, baby. Let go for me. Come for the boy who still dreams about the way you taste. Come for the fucking lunatic who’d trade his last painting just to feel your pussy clench around his fingers one more time.”

That breaks you.

You moan his name—soft, ruined, high-pitched—and you come with your hand buried between your thighs, eyes fluttering, back arching. The pleasure pulses through you in waves, soaked and frantic and unstoppable.

“God, you’re still so fucking perfect,” he grits out. “I could’ve painted this. You—like that. That’s my favorite version of you.”

You whimper, still trembling.

He grins. Dark. Gleaming. “Wanna see what you do to me?”

You nod, dizzy.

He shifts the phone—just enough for you to see the slick length of him in his hand. Red at the tip, dripping, veins thick under taut skin. His pace is ruthless now.

“I used to fuck your thighs just to tease you,” he pants. “Not even your pussy. Just that pretty space between them. Used to slide my cock right there and come all over your stomach.”

You let out a breathy sound of disbelief, hips twitching in aftershock. Your cunt flutters around nothing, empty and aching.

“Fucking ruined me,” he snarls. “You ruined me. No one else has even come close. No one sounds like you. No one feels like you.”

And then, through gritted teeth:

“I’m gonna come thinking about your mouth. That filthy little tongue. That sweet fucking smile you gave me while I fucked your throat.”

Your legs tremble again.

“Fuck, baby—fuckfuckfuck—”

He comes with your name on his tongue, head thrown back, muscles tensed, body shuddering through it as his hips stutter beneath the blanket. His jaw slackens, hand squeezing out the last twitch of pleasure.

The silence after is sharp. Breathless.

Your own body still buzzes, skin flushed, sheets damp with sweat and want and memory.

Neither of you speak at first. Just breathing. Just staring.

Eventually, Hyunjin looks up again. His voice is hoarse, trembling at the edges.

“Tell me this isn’t just sex.”

You don’t.

You just stare back.

And then you hang up.

You hang up, and your hand is still trembling. Your whole body is still trembling, wrecked in ways that have nothing to do with the orgasm.

It takes less than a minute for him to call back.

Then again.

And again.

You watch the screen light up with his name—Hyun—and each time, it makes your stomach twist so violently it feels like punishment. Like grief.

You don’t answer.

The fifth time, he stops calling. Thirty seconds later, your phone dings with a text.

[Hyunjin]: i’m sorry. please just tell me if that was too much. [Hyunjin]: i didn’t mean to push you. i didn’t mean to fuck everything up. [Hyunjin]: we don’t have to talk about it. we can pretend it didn’t happen if you want. i’ll follow your lead. just… please say something.

You don’t respond to those either.

You just turn off read receipts and shove the phone under the pillow.

The next few days go by in a strange, slow blur.

You and Kkami settle into a rhythm. He doesn’t bark anymore when you walk past. Doesn’t flinch when you reach for his leash. He even curls up at your feet when you’re on the couch, sometimes nuzzling his nose into your ankle like he’s already decided you belong here.

It should feel comforting.

It doesn’t.

You stop sitting in Hyunjin’s bed. You stop wearing the hoodie. You wash it, fold it, and put it back exactly where you found it, like none of this ever happened.

You send him brief texts. Clipped. Neutral.

[You]: he ate all his dinner. no accidents. slept fine.

[You]: took him for a walk. he peed on someone’s shoe.

[You]: when’s your flight again? 

You don’t tell him how it feels like the walls have closed in.

How you’ve stopped sleeping in his bed again—even if the couch hurts your back. Even if the couch doesn’t smell quite like him. 

How Kkami curls up beside you now without growling, without guilt. You take him for long walks. Let him tug you through the park. Let him bark at pigeons and lick your knuckles and rest his chin on your thigh when you scroll through old texts you don’t send anymore.

You don’t cry. But your chest aches in a way that feels dangerously close.

You were never going to be able to leave without feeling like this.

But now it’s worse. Because you let yourself want again.

And it’s giving you vertigo.

[Hyunjin]: should be back around 5:30. just leave the key in the box. thank you again. for everything.

You stare at the message for a long time.

Not because of what it says.

But because of what it doesn’t.

And what you don’t know is this:

Hyunjin’s lying.

His flight lands at 3:10.

He’s already halfway through the city when you’re zipping up your bag.

He’s already in the elevator by the time you’re taking out the trash.

And he’s standing at the front door—key in hand, chest tight, hands shaking—when you reach for the handle to leave.

You open the door and nearly collide with him.

You freeze.

The air catches.

Time does something strange.

Hyunjin’s just… there.

Sweatshirt slung over his shoulder, suitcase by his side, curls of damp air clinging to the collar of his shirt from the humid sprint through the city. And his eyes—sharp, dark, wide with something between relief and devastation—lock onto yours like he’s forgotten how to blink.

For a second, neither of you speaks.

Then—

“Hyun—?”

Kkami barrels into view like a missile. He lets out a shrill bark of excitement and practically throws himself into Hyunjin’s legs, circling and jumping and whining like he’s just won the fucking lottery.

But Hyunjin doesn’t look down. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.

He just stares at you.

And says, low, quiet, steady:

“You were really gonna leave.”

You clutch your bag a little tighter. “You said you’d be back at five.”

“I lied.”

You swallow. “I figured that part out.”

His jaw clenches. His hands twitch by his sides, like he doesn’t know whether to reach for you or shove them into his pockets or bury them in your skin just to make sure you’re real.

Kkami lets out another bark, trying to wedge his head between you two like he’s the center of gravity—but Hyunjin doesn’t even glance down. Not once.

All of him is focused on you.

“You weren’t going to say goodbye.”

It’s not a question. It’s an accusation. A plea. A wound.

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“Bullshit.”

That makes you flinch. Just a little. He sees it. His expression softens, but only barely.

Hyunjin steps forward. Not fast—but purposeful. Like if he stops now, you’ll disappear all over again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice taut with something sharp. “I’m sorry I came on too strong. I’m sorry I didn’t give you time. I’m sorry I didn’t say what I should’ve said months ago, years ago—fuck, the morning after. But don’t stand here and tell me I didn’t want you.”

You inhale—tight, shallow. Like there’s no room in your lungs for this.

For him.

“Hyun—”

“No,” he cuts in, but it’s not cruel. Just cracked. “You don’t get to walk out and let me find the ghost of you in my bed again. Not after you let me see you like that. Not after I—”

His voice breaks.

He swallows it down.

Kkami sits at his feet now, finally quiet, as if even he knows this part isn’t his.

“I meant it,” Hyunjin says, softer now. “That night. Everything I said. Everything I remembered. It wasn’t just to get you off.”

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag.

“You said you missed me,” he goes on. “But then you shut the door in my face. And I was willing to pretend I didn’t care. I was willing to take scraps just to be near you. But if you’re still standing in front of me—if you haven’t walked away yet—then just fucking tell me.”

He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

You look at him. Really look. And you know—he’s not going to let you run.

Not this time.

“Go get the note.”

His voice is soft, but firm. Like a command spoken through a kiss. Like an ache wrapped in velvet.

You blink. “What?”

“The letter,” he repeats. “The one I left you. On the fridge.”

You freeze.

“I know you haven’t opened it.”

You swallow. “I wasn’t ready.”

“I don’t care,” he says, and there’s a flicker of something dark in his voice—something possessive, guttural. “I want you to read it. Now.”

You hesitate.

“Please,” he adds, and that’s what breaks you.

You nod—barely—and turn without a word. Each step toward the kitchen feels thick, underwater.

You open it, and—

It’s not a letter.

Not really.

It’s a patchwork of thoughts, of half-confessions. Scribbled lines, crossed-out phrases, uneven spacing. The ink changes color midway—black, then blue, then black again. Some words are written in cursive. Some in a rush. Some like they cost him something to write.

You glance up. He nods again.

“Read it,” he says. “Out loud.”

You hesitate. Then you read.

“You once laughed in your sleep, and I didn’t sleep at all that night. I just watched you and hoped that whoever you were dreaming about looked like me.”

You swallow hard. Keep going.

The ink shifts color. From deep black to something fainter. Navy. A pen running dry, maybe.

Your voice wavers.

“There’s a sweater you left. It doesn’t smell like you anymore. I hold it anyway.”

Hyunjin’s throat works. He doesn’t interrupt.

“I never painted your face. Couldn’t do it. Couldn’t get your eyes right. But I painted your hands. A hundred times. Because they always knew how to hold me better than I knew how to ask.”

Your chest twists. You can’t speak the words out loud anymore, but you read. You read and read and read until there is nothing left, until the space between you feels alive–electric. 

He steps forward. Just one step. But it’s enough to close the distance.

“I lied,” Hyunjin says, voice low, rough. “The sitter didn’t cancel.”

You blink. “What?”

“I had people,” he continues. “So many people I could’ve called. People I trust. People who would’ve said yes.”

His eyes are burning now—dark, wet, glittering with something fragile and ferocious.

“But I didn’t want them. I wanted you.”

You don’t say anything. Can’t. Your hands are trembling.

“I told myself it was about Kkami. About the timing. About convenience.” He huffs out a broken laugh. “But it wasn’t. It was you. It was always you.”

Your breath falters.

“I missed you,” he says. “So much it made me sick. I thought I could bury it. Paint over it. Work through it. But I couldn’t. I never did. You’ve always been underneath it all—under the hunger, the silence, the mess I made of myself.”

He steps closer. You’re breathing the same air now.

“I loved you then,” he says. “When we were tangled up in bedsheets and half-truths and pretending it didn’t mean anything. I loved you when you wore my hoodie and called me yours with your eyes. I loved you the second I saw you, and I—”

His voice cracks.

“And I love you now.”

You don't remember moving. Don’t remember closing the gap, dropping your bag, reaching for him with hands that should’ve known better.

All you know is this: one second, you're blinking back tears, and the next, you're kissing him like you're drowning.

Hyunjin catches you with both hands—one at your jaw, the other curling around your waist, steadying. The kiss is messy, open-mouthed, frantic. His lips part on a gasp when you press your body to his, and then he's devouring you like something starved.

Your back hits the wall. His teeth scrape your bottom lip. Fingers thread into his hair—short now, prickling at the scalp—and he groans like it’s breaking him.

You drop your bag. You don’t even hear it hit the floor.

You don’t care.

His hands are everywhere. On your waist, your hips, the curve of your spine. He pulls you in so tight you feel the tremor in his arms, the sheer desperation coiled in his chest like a spring pulled too far.

“Fuck,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted you—”

His voice breaks again, and then he’s back on you, lips trailing across your jaw, down the line of your neck. You tilt your head back, eyes fluttering shut, mouth parting on a moan as he bites softly into your throat—just enough to mark. Just enough to remember.

Your hands scrabble at the hem of his shirt, yanking it up, palms hungry on bare skin. He hisses as your nails drag over his stomach, muscles twitching beneath the heat of your touch.

“Take it off,” you breathe.

He does. In one motion, the tank top is gone—flung to the floor like it offended him. And you stare. You can’t help it.

He’s still art. Still all sharp lines and soft skin and lean, desperate hunger. His chest heaves with every breath, sweat glinting in the hollow of his throat, and you think: I could die like this. I could burn for him and never want to be saved.

Hyunjin kisses you again—harder this time, hungrier. Like he heard it. Like he wants to go up in flames with you.

His hands slide under your thighs, lifting you without warning, and you gasp as your back hits the wall again, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. The air shifts. Your breath catches. His cock presses against you through his jeans—thick, hot, twitching with every grind of his hips.

“I can’t wait,” he pants against your mouth. “I need to be inside you. Right now.”

“Then do it,” you breathe, dragging your nails down his back. “Hyune—please—”

Hyunjin breathes something that sounds like a curse, or maybe a prayer, and then he’s walking—stumbling, really—half-guided by the desperate way you’re clinging to him, the press of your mouths, the sharp hitch of your breath when he grabs at your ass to hold you higher. You barely register the shift from wall to bedroom until your back hits the mattress, until the world becomes sheets and skin and the low rasp of his voice murmuring your name like it’s sacred.

The mattress gives beneath your weight, springs groaning under the tangle of limbs and heat and history. Hyunjin follows you down like gravity itself — hands sliding, mouth chasing, body already slotting between your thighs as if it never forgot where it belonged.

His shirt is gone. Yours joins it. He kisses you through every inch of skin he unveils, frantic and starved and reverent, like he’s not sure whether to worship you or ruin you.

You arch beneath him when his tongue traces the curve of your breast, the bite of his teeth following fast after — a soft sting that makes your breath catch, your fingers dig into his shoulders. He groans when your nails drag down his back, when your thighs fall open wider.

And then he’s there — rutting against your center, clothed still but so hard it aches through the friction, the weight of him pressing perfect and punishing between your legs.

You can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can only move — hips grinding up to meet every desperate push of his, your cunt soaked and aching with the need to be filled.

Hyunjin’s hand slips down, hooking your thigh over his hip. He grinds into you through the last barrier, jeans rough against your soaked underwear, and it’s filthy the way your body answers—already arching, already clenching around nothing. You chase the friction shamelessly, trying to wring every ounce of pressure you can from the maddening drag of his cock pressed to your core.

He hisses against your throat, breath hot, teeth scraping the fragile skin there. You’re drenched. There’s no mistaking it—the way your panties cling, the way your slick seeps through them and stains his jeans, how he shudders just from the heat of you pulsing against the fabric.

The zipper’s down before you can even register the motion. He pushes his jeans low enough to free himself—hard and heavy and flushed dark with want. Your mouth waters at the sight of it. He tears your panties off with a quiet growl, not cruel, just crazed with the need to feel skin on skin, no more layers, no more time.

When he lines up and pushes in, it’s one long, devastating stroke—his cock thick and perfect and stretching you open like you were made for it.

You gasp—sharp, strangled. Your nails sink into his back.

Hyunjin goes still.

Buried to the hilt inside you, his entire body trembling with restraint, every muscle locked tight like he’s trying to keep himself from coming right then and there.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “You—oh my god—”

His forehead drops to your shoulder. He’s shaking. You feel it. In his arms, in his breath, in the way his cock pulses deep inside you without moving. The kind of overwhelmed that turns to worship. The kind of ruin that feels like coming home.

You tighten around him instinctively—hungry, pulsing—and he lets out a strangled moan against your skin.

“I swear to god,” he whispers, forehead pressing to yours. “If I move, I’m gonna come like a fucking teenager.”

Your nails dig deeper into his back, anchoring him there, as if you could stop time with the press of your fingertips. His cock twitches inside you, thick and throbbing, and it feels like too much and not enough all at once.

Hyunjin groans—low, raw, like the sound is being dragged out of him by force.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants. “You feel… I forgot—fuck, I forgot how perfect you are.”

You whimper, breath caught in your throat. You’re stretched so full it feels like splitting—blissfully unbearable. Like he’s carved to fit you, or maybe you were carved for him.

He doesn’t move. Can’t. His whole body is locked in place, every muscle drawn taut with the kind of restraint that hurts.

“I’m gonna embarrass myself,” he rasps. “You’re so warm, I—I need a second.”

You nod, gasping. “Okay.”

But your body doesn’t care. It’s greedy. Slick clings to your inner thighs, to the base of his cock. You pulse around him again—tight, hot, involuntary—and he shudders, a curse breaking on his lips.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” he whispers, biting your shoulder.

“I’m not,” you breathe, but your hips roll anyway, a tiny grind up into his stillness.

Hyunjin moans—loud, broken. “Baby, I’m serious. You do that again and I’ll fucking—”

You clench again, on purpose this time.

He snaps.

In one hard thrust, he pulls out halfway and slams back in. You cry out—sharp, wanton—as your body folds around his. The stretch. The impact. The sound of skin on skin.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, your head tipping back, throat exposed.

Hyunjin watches the way your mouth parts, how your breasts bounce with every desperate snap of his hips. He groans then drops his mouth to your chest, sucking a bruise over your heart.

“This mine?” he pants, dragging his cock out slow before plunging back in. “Still mine?”

You can’t speak. Can only nod, breath caught in your throat. He fucks you through the motion, slow and deep now, the grind of his cock so obscene you swear you can feel him everywhere—behind your knees, in your throat, echoing in every part of you that remembers how he used to love you.

“No, baby,” he murmurs, voice fraying, fingers sliding under your knee to push your thigh back, opening you wider. “Say it. Let me hear you say it.”

“It’s—” Your voice breaks on a moan when he thrusts deep again, dragging against that spot that makes your vision go white at the edges. “It’s yours, Hyunjin. Always.”

He groans into your chest like the words punched the air out of him. Then he’s fucking you harder, deeper, like he’s trying to anchor himself in the way you take him. The bed creaks, the headboard thuds against the wall, but you don’tHe moans into your chest like the words physically hit him, his thrusts growing messier, more frantic. His hand finds yours and pins it above your head, fingers lacing together tight, grounding him even as he loses himself in the slick, pulsing heat of you.

You’re soaked, ruined, trembling under every thick slide of his cock. He hits so deep it borders on pain, and yet you arch into it—into him—dragging him closer, clawing at his back like if you could just get closer, it might be enough.

“I missed this pussy,” he growls, the words slurred and broken against your throat. “I fucking dreamed about it. Thought about it every night with my cock in my hand—nothing felt as good, nothing—fuck—”

You keen, high-pitched, overwhelmed. Your body pulses around him again, tight as a vice, and it makes him stutter—a half-thrust cut short by the shudder that runs through him.

He kisses you then—desperate, biting, tongue dragging into your mouth like he wants to consume you from the inside out.

You’re moan is swallowed by his mouth when he hits that spot—deep and relentless—and your whole body jolts. Your back arches, your legs tighten around his waist, dragging him deeper.

“Right there?” he growls. “That the spot, baby?”

You nod, frantic, mouth open but no words coming—just breath, just heat, just the sound of him splitting you open again and again.

Hyunjin grins. It's crooked. Crooked and cocky and dizzy with something feral. Like he’s gone. Like you’ve pulled him under with you.

“Yeah,” he breathes, thrusting deeper, slower now, grinding his hips in a filthy circle that makes your eyes roll back. “I remember. Right there. Got you clenching like you’re about to cry.”

contine this: His voice breaks on a moan, guttural and reverent. “Fuck, that’s so pretty—so fucking pretty, baby—your face when I fuck you like this.”

He’s unraveling, you can feel it—his rhythm fraying, pace faltering, every thrust a prayer half-remembered. He buries himself deep and stays there, hips pressed flush, cock pulsing inside you like a heartbeat. His forehead falls to yours again, and he’s breathing so hard it shakes both your bodies.

“You gonna cry for me?” he whispers, voice all fray and silk. “Wanna see it, wanna feel you fall apart. I’ll take care of it—I’ll hold you through it, I promise.”

You don’t mean to. But it’s been too much—his mouth, his voice, the stretch of him splitting you open in perfect, deliberate ruin. Your eyes blur, your breath hitches, and before you can stop it—

A tear slips down your cheek.

Hyunjin sees it. And something inside him shatters.

“Oh my god,” he chokes, fingers trembling where they hold your thigh. “That’s it, that’s—fuck—”

He fucks you through it, slow and deep, every stroke angled to keep you on the edge. His free hand cradles your face, thumb brushing the wetness from your cheek. And he’s murmuring now, wrecked and ragged and sweet:

“You’re so good for me. So perfect. I don’t deserve you—I don’t—”

You cry out again, back arching as your orgasm hits—wave after wave of unbearable heat crashing through you. You seize around him, walls fluttering, hips stuttering beneath his weight.

Hyunjin groans like it’s killing him. Like the feel of you falling apart around his cock is undoing him thread by thread.

“Can I—fuck, baby, where do you want it?” he gasps, teeth gritted, body coiled so tight you think he might break apart if you say no.

“Inside,” you breathe, wrecked and shameless. “Want it inside—please.”

That last word shreds him.

He thrusts once—deep, sharp—then again, slower this time, drawn-out like he’s trying to memorize the way you feel. His eyes flutter shut. His mouth falls open. And then he’s coming—hard.

A low, desperate sound tears out of him as his cock jerks inside you, spilling warmth in thick, molten pulses. He buries himself as deep as he can go, arms trembling around you, breath stuttering in your ear. His whole body shakes with it, every muscle straining to stay rooted in you as pleasure rips through him like lightning.

He stays like that—deep inside you, trembling, breathless—until the shudders fade to something softer. Something quieter.

The kind of silence that feels like safety.

His forehead rests against yours, damp hair brushing your temple, and you can feel the weight of him everywhere—his chest pressed to yours, his arms wrapped around your waist, the steady thrum of his heart syncing with your own.

Neither of you speaks.

There’s nothing left to say.

Just breath. Just warmth. Just the slow, wet drag of him slipping out of you when his body finally yields, when your bodies finally remember they’re separate things again. You wince a little, overstimulated, but he’s careful—gentle hands guiding your hips as he settles beside you.

The bed is a mess. You’re a mess. But in his arms, none of it matters.

He pulls you close, one hand curling behind your neck, the other splayed low across your spine. You fit against him like you were made to—legs tangled, faces barely apart. His eyes find yours, dark and soft and unreadable. And then—

He kisses you.

Slow. Tender. Unhurried. Like he’s not trying to restart anything—just thank you, silently, for letting him fall apart in your arms.

Your fingers slip into his hair. His thumb draws circles at the base of your spine.

And in that quiet, breathless space—there is no ache, no past, no noise.

The gallery hums with low conversation and champagne glasses clinking. Golden evening light filters through tall windows, casting Hyunjin’s paintings in soft amber and dust. He stands near one of his larger pieces—stark, aching, all deep reds and pale ivory brushstrokes layered like wounds healed over—speaking to a small crowd of critics and curators, hands moving with slow confidence as he explains his process.

It’s been years since he’s spoken like this—without apology. Years since he let the world see him this raw and unguarded. He’s dressed in black from head to toe, long hair tied back loosely, wedding band glinting when he gestures. He looks settled now, anchored. And you know what it took to get him there.

You weren’t supposed to come.

He’d kissed your forehead this morning, hand warm and reverent on your swollen belly, and told you to rest. “You’ll just get exhausted,” he’d said, brushing your hair back, “and I’ll be distracted the whole time wondering if your ankles are swollen or if the baby’s doing backflips again.”

But now you’re here.

Standing just inside the gallery, framed by the door like something sacred. You wore the dress he loves—the one that drapes gently over the curve of your belly, soft and simple, glowing in the dusk light. One hand rests instinctively at your side, the other slipping under the swell of you. There’s a quiet smile on your lips, half proud, half bashful, and your eyes are locked on him.

Hyunjin doesn’t see you at first. He’s mid-sentence, talking about brush technique and layered memory, about how grief isn't linear, how art can be a body trying to heal. His voice is steady. His hands are sure.

Then he glances up.

And freezes.

You watch it happen in real time—the shift. His mouth stutters around a word, vowels cut short, fingers faltering mid-gesture. And then—god. That smile. Unrehearsed, boyish, wide in a way that crinkles his eyes and ruins all pretense. A pure, delighted thing that belongs only to you.

A few people glance over their shoulders, curious. But Hyunjin barely notices.

He catches himself, coughs once, and somehow fumbles through the last few lines of his explanation. His voice is softer now. Almost sheepish. He wraps up quickly, answering a question with a vague nod, thanking the crowd with a half-bow.

And then he’s moving.

Straight through the gallery, long strides purposeful, eyes never leaving yours.

You open your mouth—maybe to apologize, maybe just to greet him—but he’s already cupping your face in his hands before you can speak. His fingers are cool from holding a champagne flute, but his palms are warm. Familiar. His touch gentle despite how frantically he reaches for you.

“You’re unbelievable,” he says, kissing your forehead. “I told you not to come.” A kiss to your nose. “I specifically said—” another to your cheek, “—that I’d worry—” your chin “—that you’d get tired,” he murmurs against your skin, peppering kisses like punctuation. “That your feet would swell. That you’d—fuck, baby, I said stay home.”

You smile, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze—warm and full of something playful. “I know, but—”

He kisses you.

Soft and certain, his mouth presses to yours before the words can even leave your lips. It’s instinctive, almost impatient, like he couldn’t bear to hear the excuse when you’re standing right here, glowing and breathless and his. His hand curls at the back of your neck, thumb brushing the line of your jaw. You feel him smile into it, lips warm and reverent, like maybe he’s trying to convince himself he’s not dreaming.

You giggle against his mouth.

It bubbles out before you can stop it—light, easy, surprised by your own happiness.

“Hyunjin,” you laugh, gently pushing at his chest. “Let me speak.”

He leans back only a little, just enough to see you again. There’s a smudge of your lip gloss at the corner of his mouth, and you wipe it with your thumb, grinning.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur.

Hyunjin pulls back just enough to look at you—really look. His eyes trace every inch of your face like he’s memorizing you all over again. His thumb sweeps over your cheekbone. “You take my breath away,” he murmurs, like a confession. “Every damn time.”

You want to say something—something light, something teasing—but the way he’s looking at you leaves no room for irony. Just warmth. Just wonder.

And love. So much of it, it floods the space between you.

His hand slips down, resting over the swell of your stomach, and he sighs when he feels the smallest kick beneath his palm. “Little traitor,” he whispers to your bump, grinning. “You two planned this, didn’t you?”

You feign innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mhm.” He leans in and kisses you again—soft, slow, not quite chaste. Like there’s no one else in the room, no critics still lingering, no gallery full of people pretending not to watch the artist come undone in the arms of his muse.

Eventually, he pulls back—just a little. Just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“Stay?” he asks, almost shy. “I want to show you something. After everyone leaves.”

You nod.

You nod, and his smile deepens—boyish, brilliant, the kind that still makes your knees weak even now. He kisses you one last time, quick and giddy, before reluctantly pulling away with a soft groan, dragging his hand down your arm like he’s tethering himself to you.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, squeezing your fingers before turning back toward the crowd. “Don’t go into labor while I’m gone.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “No promises.”

He shoots you a look over his shoulder—mock-scandalized, lips twitching with laughter—and then he’s swept back into the flow of guests, nodding politely, shaking hands, answering a few last questions as people begin to drift toward the exit.

You watch from the side, sipping sparkling water from a plastic flute someone handed you, perched on the edge of a velvet bench like you belong in one of his paintings. A few guests glance your way—some with recognition, some with curiosity—but none of them matter.

You only watch him.

And he watches you too—between conversations, between thank-yous and signatures, his gaze keeps sliding back—like a tether, like gravity, like a vow that’s already been made a hundred times in silence.

You smile around the rim of your glass and press a hand to your belly, where the smallest flicker answers back. A quiet reminder of everything the two of you have built in the quiet spaces between the chaos. In the brushstrokes. In the breathing.

The gallery empties slowly, like a tide pulling away from shore. But you stay, bathed in golden light, watching the man you love exist in a room full of people who will never know him like you do. Who will never see the version of him that wakes up sleep-tousled and soft, who talks to your stomach like it already understands him, who paints love into everything he touches because he’s learned how to survive by making beauty out of ache.

[rotagnus]

[🪷☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆] PAC.

the rest of 2025.

[sections]: personal messages; general messages; love messages; messages about people; themes/lessons. [🪷☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆]

this one will be more of a lengthy one and i tried to choose images that weren't extremely similar so there'd be a stronger pull towards one, if that makes sense? i know i've been doing a lot of future-oriented pacs recently (partially bc im graduating hs myself and want a bit of reassurance for college 😔), so the next pacs will be more fun!! about like crushes, people, etc. if you have any suggestions feel free to drop 'em in the ask box as an anon or something!

p1.

personal messages; okay so you as a person are definitely on the darker side of personalities. you guys are very moon-like, and may view things through a more critical lens in fear of things being 'too good' or you being 'too hopeful'. you guys have good style. shorter hair, curly 3a-4a for a specific few of you. many dress in darker colors. skirts. gold jewelry. a lot of you may have a crush on one of your friends. you guys have great intuition and many of you have this effervescent quality about you that just pulls people in. magnetic, you emit this sense of nostalgia that keeps people stuck to you, which can be a good or bad thing. you guys are like cats, very specific with who you like, but once you get them? clingyyyy. many of you are genuine too, and have this mindset of 'don't be strategic w me when i'm being genuine w you' (i think i reblogged a post like that and it brings u to mind). a lot of you have a fear of the future and dying alone.

general messages; winter is definitely going to be a significant season for you, out of all of 2025. so that even means the earlier months that have already passed, but i think there'll be a stark difference between those and november, december. the summer and autumn may be more of passing periods for you; a lot of you will let your hair grow, things are going to be more of a constant than rapid changes. this can unsettle some of you who always need to be busy with something, but this is a time to nurture your talents. you'll need all the strength you can get for later parts of your life. many of you are going to be growing something; this can be as small as a literal plant, to a project, to a talent, to even a baby.

love messages; it seems like a lot of you lost hope with love. like reaching to a sky of stars, but your hands can never go far enough to actually grab one of the elusive solar bodies. 'no one noticed' by the marias may be significant. there's a lot of people that you'll meet who you'll think are attractive or interesting, but you won't necessarily feel a deeper pull to them, so you're kind of like 'mehhh maybe love doesn't exist for me'. i think many might end up falling in love with a friend or becoming friends with someone who you're like. really passionate about at first, platonically, then you realize 'oh shit i'm falling for them'. some of you are definitely already in that phase.

messages ab people; you'll have a lot of outings!! public places will be very significant, particularly bustling ones, such as malls, cities, etc. your friends will give you a very tender feeling that'll make you feel fulfilled. some might be younger than you or generally behind you in life lessons, and you'll be very motherly toward them. this will heal a part of you that always wished there'd be someone to guide YOU. you guys are very soft-hearted people but a lot of you doubt that quality of yours; i'm here to tell you, your friends see this! and they love it about you, even though they may not say it much. you guys are as sweet as cake <3 and ofc those who are worried you'll never find someone that'll actually like you?? honey i promise you will.

themes/lessons; mmm as for lessons you guys are going to learn how to not be so serious and uptight...this is a defense mechanism for a lot of you, and you guys are using this because you have trust issues and and lots of deep-rooted fears, but i think many of you will be able to heal and nurture this part of you, especially later on in the year. you'll learn how to rest and take care of yourself, and you'll build a 'fantastic life' for yourself. some of you will learn that sometimes there is no choice other than to leave an environment, or a bad person; you're going to realize that this shows your strength rather than defeat. many of you will learn how to be proud of yourself.

signs/confirmations; night owls. seashells. ceramic pots/tiles. sharp jaw. pink heels. chipped nails. labrador retrievers. 333. 2:00-3:00pm. bubblegum. ayesha erotica.

p2.

personal messages; a lot of you are closed-off at this current moment. many of you are rather deep people, similar to a maze; it's worth it, in the end though. many of you are lionhearted. many are deeply in tune with the universe. you guys are very loving people, and can come off as a bit loud or too bright; the truth is you're never ever going to be too much for the right people. many of u wanna give up a part of yourself in this current moment, DON'T. if you don't give up on yourself, you will be handed peace. eternal peace. you guys have a very drowsy kind of beauty. many of u are curvaceous or thick and this is a quality others find very beautiful about you. your eyes are particularly gorgeous, and others can get lost in them very easily. you guys relax others very easily and they see you as a source of comfort. your ambition to creating a good life for yourself is truly admirable, and many people see you getting exactly what you want because you deserve it, babycakes.

general messages; hmmm as for general messages, i'm hearing peace. i think a lot of you are going through a big transformation right now and everything that you've neatly built up for yourself is falling apart. but it's falling apart to reveal paradise behind it, honeydove. don't be afraid of the unknown. the rest of 2025 will bear plentiful fruit for you, fruit that you've grown and wanted from the beginning. i just heard 'a new kind of love'. yeahh platonically/romantically you'll be shown that you're not hard to love. a lot of you hold a lot of doubts about yourself, and trust me, this'll be the kind of love you've NEVER experienced before, from friends, family, all people in your life. you probably don't even believe it exists. this year will break apart your worldview and reinforce it into something much stronger than you thought it could ever be.

love messages; good fortune!! you'll succeed, proving the people who doubted you wrong. many of you will experience new things in the sphere of love, and right now, you have to stop setting mental limits for yourself. expecting that love will turn out a specific way for you is frowned upon. stop guessing and just let yourself feel. after all, that's what you're good at. you will learn that the sweetest thing you can be is yourself, and that you were never 'too much'. of course, some people won't be able to handle the love inside of you, but there will also be people who have yearned for someone who is as passionate and caring as they are. the rest of the year, ESPECIALLY in love, will serve to break the barriers that you've set up for yourself. you crave everything that's coming for you.

messages ab people; a lot of the people that come into your life (yes!! new people) will be a result of your boundaries being strong. you've resisted any attempts for people to get into your little world, knowing that some of them were just there to use you and wreck you. people will come into your life and you won't push them away, because you will know that they're the right ones for you. some of you may still experience social anxiety, but you will learn how to deal with it. a lot of core memories will be formed and you'll stop feeling that tension deep in your shoulders. your dream life is being carved out for you, bit by bit. i'm not saying that you'll get everything you ever wanted in a snapshot, babycakes. but the road to your desires is not as rocky as you think.

themes/lessons; so a big part of this year is learning how to be patient and how to not settle for things. i feel like a lot of you have this ability in you to recognize when you should give certain things up because they're not meant for you, and this comes to you relatively easy, but it leaves you mournful and empty. those holes will be filled up, and it'll heal certain parts of yourself too. you'll spend time with people who genuinely care for you and you'll be like...'oh. maybe i'm not as hard to love as i originally thought'. a lot of you will be healing your inner child; homecooked meals may be significant, and a lot of warmth will be coming to you guys, especially in the material sense. blankets, cuddles :) etc.

signs/confirmations; glasses. apples. black jeans. deep purple. stars. lamps. light. crabs. arachnids. watermelon. baby chicks. hoop earrings. cherry blossoms. strangers. jazz music. the internet.

p3.

personal messages; a lot of you are very playful people. ponytails and braids may be your style of hair. you guys can be considered clingy and are very verbally and/or physically affectionate, especially to your family n friends. you may be quiet at first but you end up being a rather bubbly person later. you enjoy nature and the small good things in life; many of you want to preserve everything you see, which can range from being a photographer, journaling things down, or hoarding stuff. you guys can get overstimulated very easily and this can come off to other people as excitement or nervousness. you guys are very clear to people and they can really see what you're feeling by your facial expression or tone of voice. many may have collections of certain things; particularly shoes or headwear or accessories. many of you prefer rain, cloudy weather, and the night to bright lighting. you guys have a knack for aesthetics and know where to look for beauty. microtrend baddie.

general messages; you guys will be getting lots of opportunities coming your way and you'll have to make a lot of decisions. 'wheel of fortune' popped out so i'm wagering that a lot of things that happen will be in the spur of the moment. new beginnings and endings will be significant, and a lot of things will be happening. you may be busy for the rest of the year, which will leave you with little time for the self; so i highly encourage you to find ways to nurture yourself even when you're hustling and bustling around. don't neglect yourself just because you want to take care of other people. some of you may get a gift such as a perfume or something expensive later on, particularly during birthdays/the holiday season.

love messages; a lot of the circumstances surrounding love will be a reflection of what you put in. those of you that were good-hearted people and hold yourself to a high-standard will have that returned to you; those who hurt others, especially on purpose, will have karma coming back. i get that a lot of you give compliments easily and you genuinely want people to win, so that can come back in the form of romantic offers and compliments back. most of you will have some sort of longevity in this; a situationship, staying w your current partner, or crushing on someone for a long part of the rest of the year. a lot of things won't be changing up this year, as it's meant to teach you something.

messages ab people; eeee as for people, you may feel that others are constantly attacking you because of the way that you changed. a lot of you underwent a metamorphosis and come out stronger, more beautiful, or with a stronger sense of self. other people have realized that it's harder to get you to react or to give parts of yourself away, now, and this can make them angry. you may feel as if a lot of connections are falling apart, but babycakes; it is all coming together. a lot of you will have a very solitary view on your life, thinking that you don't need anybody. at times this will be proven wrong, with strangers coming to assist you in a way that gives you more faith in the universe, and more faith that your goodness will eventually be returned back to you despite your current circumstances.

themes/lessons; a lot of you will be dealing with some bittersweet things. lots of lessons about sacrificing things for the greater good. a lot of this year's focus is going to be letting things go and trusting that they'll return to you. 2026 will be the result of your efforts, and you're going to have to grow a deeper strength in the spiritual, or your belief system. in order for you not to lose faith, you will be given tiny snapshots of belief; as i've said before, strangers, new friends, surprise gifts, or messages that you weren't even expecting will appear, and you'll feel a bit safer and more reassured when you see these things. many of you are like flowers; it takes time for them to bloom, and this year is going to be the year of the roots reaching deep into the rich soil. you will bear your petals next year, babycakes.

signs/confirmations; ichiko aoba. navy blue. monarch. border collies. blue wall color. moving away. returning back home. 0.5 pictures. lime. kiwi birds. spoiled food. round face. collar. lacey blouse.

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

—CUPID IS SO DUMB!

synopsis ; everyone says that they would be a terrible person to date, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

ft ; kenma kozume, osamu miya

cw ; afab!reader, swearing

now playing ; cupid by fifty fifty

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀 𝐊𝐎𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐄

kenma was basically the joke of your school. sure, he was on the volleyball team, and they had made it to nationals, but he was…well, he was practically just begging to flip burgers for the rest of his life.

he was a video game addict, had no friends outside of the volleyball team, and probably never went outside in his free time. sure, he had decent grades, but nowadays, unless you’re in the top 10% of the grade, a good college surely won’t accept you.

no one in their right mind would date him, right? he wasn’t even that good looking either. short, monstrous posture, long and unkept hair…who in their right mind would date someone like him?

right, who would ever date him?

who would ever date him?

who would—

…

you would.

you never really saw anything wrong with kenma. he wasn’t bad looking in your opinion; in fact, you found him cute. you enjoyed video games as well, so you would enjoy playing with someone else.

you weren’t the most popular at school either anyways, so you’ve always had the occasional thought of dating kenma. but your last straw was when the annoying bitches in your grade who didn’t know how to shut up finally declared that “both kenma and (y/n) are so weird and ugly! they’re never gonna get married.”

fuck it.

“hey, kozume.”

“hm?”

he didn’t look up from his console, but you could see the slight stiffening of his hands. “you wanna, uh, like, y’know…um, go out together sometime?”

kenma’s entire body froze, the console nearly dropping from his hands. he stayed silent, and for a moment, you almost regretted doing this. but you had to do this for your own self-satisfaction. “we can go to a video game store or something after school.”

“wuh— why?” finally, some sort of response. poor guy; you were definitely freaking him out. you silently apologized to him in your mind.

“you clearly like video games n’ stuff, and we’re both quiet, so we’re pretty similar already.” you fidgeted with your fingers, managing a small smile.

“…sure.”

was it only supposed to be a one-off thing just to spite the bothersome bitches in your grade? yes. but kenma was actually pretty good company at the game store, giving you recommendations—though he was still rather quiet.

one date turned to five. five dates turned to ten. ten dates turned to twenty. though most of them were netflix or video games and chill dates. before you knew it, you really had fallen for kenma. and now that you think about it, those people sure were idiots for refusing to date kenma, because he treats you better than their asshole boyfriends treat them.

“here.” kenma placed a plastic bag onto your desk, face hidden with his hair.

“what’s th—“ you opened the bag, and seeing a box inside, you opened the box and saw what was perhaps the most heavenly piece of apple pie you had ever seen. “KENMA! IS THIS FOR ME?!”

“yeah. you always forget to eat breakfast, and my mom made apple pie, so…” kenma shuffled his feet.

“you’re the best! i love you!”

and so the gossip went from the both of you never being able to find someone to the both of you being a cringy couple who wouldn’t last. bold of them to talk, considering how they have more hookups and relationships than you can count on both your fingers and toes.

but oh well. let’s see who has the last laugh now, when you have a husband who is a successful streamer and the ceo of the bouncing ball corps.

𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔 𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀

you hated atsumu miya. that was a fact known to all. you were paired up with him once for a project, and he did absolutely nothing. he always claimed that he had volleyball practice, which was probably true, so you couldn’t blame him for that, but he was so self-centered. he only knew how to talk about himself. he was so annoying.

but the worst part? you knew fucking well that if he put in even a little bit of effort into the project, you both could have gotten a higher score than a 70. he was smart, no doubt about it, but lord was he annoying.

for a long time, you thought his twin osamu miya wasn’t much better. he was too nonchalant about everything, he only cared about food—which you could somewhat relate to, considering how you were a food lover as well—, and he doesn’t know how to properly discipline is annoying ass brother. handling him in a purely physical manner will not help atsumu’s behavior in the slightest.

and great, you were paired up with osamu for a project. at least unlike atsumu, osamu invited you over to his house in order to work on the project. you had been in his room, flipping through your notes feverishly to try and find something useful.

“want some dorayaki?” osamu asked, holding out the bread to you. your jaw dropped, stopping the flipping of pages for a few moments.

“you’re offering food? maybe you’re not a big back after all.”

“nah, this is tsumu’s. if you don’t want it, i’ll have it.” he said, nudging his head at atsumu’s desk right next to his. “he’s just dumb and he left it there on his desk.”

you laughed, taking the bread from his hand. “i take it that you’re not the most fond of your twin? well, i mean, clearly not considering how you beat him up all the time at school.”

“he’s still my brother. he’s an idiot though.”

although osamu wasn’t the brightest, you did get a much better grade on a project with him than his brother. plus, osamu was way funnier and had even offered you food. you know what, maybe he wasn’t nearly as bad as you had thought.

“want some?” osamu asked on a random day during lunch, holding out a large onigiri to you. “i made it, so i don’t really know if i can guarantee if it’s good or bad.”

you snatched the onigiri from his hand. “i literally love you so much.” you exclaimed. looks like the term ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’ works with women too. “literally marry me.”

“oh wow.”

you weren’t thinking when you had declared such a thing when you both weren’t even dating, but osamu surely was. staring at you as you ate, he did think that it would be pretty nice being married to you.

at home, atsumu walked to the kitchen and gave osamu a sour look. “you’re such a simp. is your rizz literally just cooking? man, bro is down bad.”

“shut the fuck up, tsumu. you wish you have any rizz outside of your looks.” osamu snapped back, molding rice into a triangle shape and eating any excess rice left over.

well, osamu was right about making you fall for him through your stomach. because a few years later, you’re standing at the altar, shoving wedding cake into each other’s mouths.

[dawnicaltarot]

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃: 𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐍.

ִ ࣪𖤐 𝓟ile one

if the mandela effect was a personality it's probably them. vivid, intense and lucid. people do falsely accuse this person and have negative assumptions on them. but the truth is— they feel lost and they are trying to get to know themselves in a realistic manner. they think no one will ever be worried about their existence even if they try and keep pretending as another person they actually not. i can say they can passed as a celebrity and actor. their traits talks about having a good leadership and a future visionary individual. this is a type of person who won't let an opportunity to slip out in with their bare hands. because they believe that dreams should be made and not just sleeping in the corner of your desire. it's a mood of strike while the iron is hot— taking advantage of the opportunity yk. they usually isn't afraid to take a risk this is probably one of the reasons why they got a lot of people who follows and looks up high on them. they are respectable i should say. they can be competitive especially at project and work, they usually want to appear stronger than others. they got names and line of people that believe on them. well, sometimes they doubt themselves too like "what if i can't make it?" or "what if this plan can lead into complete disaster and failure?" but you know what's more interesting? it's their ability to appear optimistic all the time in every scenario or situation. it's an energy that no matter how dark the day is, the small faith in them always takes the lead. this power that can gain their strength to continue, to pursue. they can have a younger age than you or a physical appearance of young. otherwise, regardless with their age they are still carefree. they have a strong desire for exploring especially new places and skills and even new beginnings. thus, i can sense that this is a type of lover that is willing to pour a lot of affection into your empty cup. while, having them around? hell yeah, they can make you comfortable at the same time it feels like you are included, heard and seen. perhaps, they have this belief that kindness should be normalized. if giving is a gift? your person keeps winning on it. they usually have value for every living thing in this world— special mentions to children, animals and to our mother earth. they are constantly looking forward on how they can improve themselves to be better individual in society. they may have a problems with their past relationships and this lead them to putting a blame on themselves on why every of their past relationships lead into an end or even fail to stay longer.

ִ ࣪𖤐 𝓟ile two

your person has a completely different personality than the first group. this is someone who is a homebody, it's their comfort zone. they usually avoid crowded places and may have fear of judgement or maybe have social anxiety. they were reminding me of a clam who is usually shy, reserved but inside they are hiding a fervent support to a specific person and things such as anime or documentary. they are good with calculating things at once, i should say, they are smart. they like brainstorming a lot. hence, they have a huge potential to be an owner of a huge business or company like a president or a ceo. i see that they were craving badly to end some generational cycle, they really eager of changes. perhaps, it's easy for them to cut people off especially if they are visioning it as a person who has an ill and harmful intention towards them. also, they are the type of individual who like to limit people in their life. their current energy is leaning towards of alone and depression— there's a huge disappointment and loss with their side right now, maybe someone stole something from them or deny them or if not, they got betrayed from a person who they considered trustworthy. otherwise, no matter what scenario this is. it lead a big disappointment, regret and frustration on their side (mostly in their inner thoughts) but this not make them as someone who want a revenge, after all resentment is not their thing. it's giving an energy to me "it's over and done, what else can i do?" yk, it's such a pure and very mature individual. have i already mentioned that this is a strong soulmate connection? well yeah. you and this person have an ultimate soul connection. it's giving a mood of love at first sight to me😌📜— that will make you a thought of "this is it, they might be the one i were looking for". wow just wow🙀! you may meet them through your social events and interaction like i vision two people getting invited in a wedding that will be held in a fantastic and magical garden. i also have a little scenario here that you may choose the same cup at the same time and you two will be accidentally touch each other hands and will removed it right away because you feel the ground and spark. for some reason, i'm getting you may marry this person right away or this can be an arrange marriage because there's an agreement and union here. also, there's a possibility here that you may meet them in three years from now? or the age gap can be three years and up. they seem to have a younger face than their age. their physical appearance says; they have a big pair of ears or if not, they have a sharp hearing, a heart shaped lips paired with captivating beaming teeth. they may work as gynecologists. otherwise, their work need them to deal and interact with feminine energy. they may have a collection of jewelries and accessories, you may often see them wearing a specific ring. people first assumptions on them is that they're cold, unapproachable and selfish but that's actually the opposite of their personality since they're typically shy and kind-hearted. when it comes to their family, they like to laugh, join and share love and stories with them. their family may own a resort from a specific warm country, i think this a vacation home. if that's not the case, they like to visit and travel in warmer countries. they typically good at sports especially with volleyball and basketball regardless of their gender of course. they might be into sun-kissed skin people.

ִ ࣪𖤐 𝓟ile three

ohh a knight. your person loves to protect their loved ones and themselves from this crazy and toxic world. it's an aura of fighting a tooth and nail, they know they are powerful enough to win a battle and rule people. they can be a feminist. experience makes them as sharp individual. sometimes they actually miss important opportunities this is because of lack of focus in reality and them, keep ignoring it and don't want to deal with struggles instead of facing them. i can say they were a little bit hard headed so embrace yourself with that. it's giving me a mood of there's a rainbow after the flood or rain. although they like this saying that tells all worries can be wipe away and you will be able to grow and bloom a new flow energy— they typically don't carry this kind of mindset all the time. their current energy is leaning on "waiting", this can be a new job, a promotion or even waiting for a new love interest. if this is a man physically, they probably have a beard, a mascular body, a medium hair length and height. while if they were a woman physically, they may have tanned skin with a brown to jet black of hair color, a petite body, a distinctive nose, a pair of brown eyes and a round face shape. otherwise, they may have a meaningful tattoo around their shoulder. they may look older than their age. you might meet them around six years from now? or the age gap can be six years and up. their name can be started with the letter "S". you may often see them wearing expensive clothes and necklaces. in case of meeting places, you may meet them at the setting where water is prominent like through a cruise ship, a diving lesson or a sea captain. there's a part in this reading telling that they are lucky to be with you and encounter you in this lifetime. they may have a good singing voice, that can serenade or can sing you a lullaby in the times of your sleepless nights. their favorite color is red, they may own a specific vehicle with that color. they are someone who desire to live (or probably already lived) in city, where tall buildings are made. they may own an apartment, a unit or a house that when you are enter inside it the first thing that will confront you is that it's neat, organize and clean space surrounding. that makes you afraid to step in because you were having a thought you may dirt it. your person has a strong placement of fire signs— aries, leo and sagittarius. otherwise, your person is someone who value traditions and enjoying their time studying the arts in museum. some of their negative aspects is that they can be rowdy, possessive and childish. they can be from any countries from the continent south america. they can be someone who is a first born or may be someone who has a little sister or niece.

all rights reserved © dawnicaltarot 2022-2025 | do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

— ✯ credits to rightful owner of dividers and images that i used for this project.

[solefi]

GOD BETWEEN MY LEGS

A JAKE SIM SMUT-SHOT "Exhausted and on the run, a runaway girl and the boy who holds her like she’s the only thing worth living for find sanctuary in each other."

RELEASE DATE ➜ OUT NOW

❝ In the backseat of his car sat a black duffel bag containing only their most important items—IDs, cash, clothes, basic toiletries, a water bottle, a burner phone, a gun, amongst other miscellaneous things.

The road was pitch black, save for the occasional barely-functioning lamppost and the red neon signs of 'no vacancy' that grew smaller in the distance. His head turned toward her. She was still in the same position she was in an hour ago—bare legs tucked beneath her, the long sleeves of her navy blue hoodie completely covering her palms, leaving only her fingers visible, head pressed against the glass window. She seemed as if she were looking out the window into the darkness, but he knew her mind was probably repeating the events of earlier that evening over and over again.

It's not every day that you kill a person, after all.

Or, at least not for her.

One lone tear fell from her eye. He instinctively wanted to move—to wipe it off. To hold her, and hug her, and kiss her, and love her as much as his heart wanted. To protect and shield her from the world, just like he'd done for years, now.

Like he'd failed to do earlier that evening.

He hadn't always been like that—consistent. stable. settled. His nature and feeding habits prevented him from staying put for too long without risking discovery. It never bothered him, though. He made it his mission to never stay long enough in one place to let his feelings cloud his judgment. He'd always been the most sentimental one out of his brothers.

But then she came along.

And suddenly, his nomadic lifestyle was but a distant memory. His semiweekly feedings turned monthly. He began supplying himself from underground markets for his kind, rather than directly from humans. But most importantly—he began to feel.

He felt worry whenever he saw her stressed with projects and schoolwork, he felt need when she kissed him like she wanted to own all of him, he felt joy when she begged him to stay the night with sultry eyes and a playful smile, he felt sadness when she cried over arguments with her parents, he felt pride when she excitedly told him she passed an exam she had spent weeks studying for.

He felt fear when he saw that her apartment door was unlocked. He felt panic when seeing her furniture broken, curtains torn, and bullet holes all over her walls. He felt panic when he saw her on the kitchen floor, completely covered in blood—not all hers, thankfully—bawling her eyes out silently with a dead body in front of her.

He'd let himself go. He became soft, comfortable. Too sloppy and trusting. And it was she who paid the price.

He figured he could hide forever and not worry about her finding out about his other life. Now he doesn't even know if she knows. Should he bring it up? Or would it only make everything worse?

His lip caught between his teeth. He'll just have to deal with it when he's ready—when they're both ready.

But for now, he turned his head back to the road, letting a heavy exhale through his nose, and kept driving. ❞

[magpiemirroring]

I am always sort of astonished by people who expect me to sheepishly shrug and go "Oh well, I suppose there might be a god, haha, but this is what I feel, yanno?" as if I should be embarrassed or ashamed of being an atheist. As if I might have doubts about this after growing up in an aggressive majority Christian country where admitting you don't celebrate Christmas makes people look at you as if you've grown a second head while they sputter that Christmas, the holiday that celebrates the arrival of the Christian savior, Jesus, is for everyone. (As if that isn't kinda weirdly presumptive when it comes to anyone who's just not that into Jesus.)

I am conscious that religions provide more to people than simply spiritual guidance and set of beliefs about the world. So I looked at a bunch of other open (or open if you follow the right path) faiths just in case something else spoke to me and I was still like, hmm....none of this is doing it for me. I get a lot more peace and confidence out of not worrying about gods or other spiritual matters. I like wrestling my morality without having to get a religion mixed up in it. (I'm pretty moral and fairly kind. A fact that astonishes some people so much that I once had someone tell me straight out that they didn't know atheists could be nice. I don't believe in a higher power. I haven't abandoned the ideas of responsibility for my actions or participating in some sort of social code or contract with other people. I still have empathy for others based on the fact that we're all people. I have even fought to ensure that minority religions are not ignored in my workplaces and work projects on the basis that whether or not I believe in a religion doesn't matter when it comes to protecting both the freedom to practice a religion and the joy of representation.)

On the flip side, I know some religions are cults and the more I have learned about cults, the more I am determined to be openly, kindly atheist when I can. Not to convert people to atheism. But to show them that there is a world outside their cult that can be kind and supportive so that if they want to escape something that functions as a controlling or abusive relationship, they have some hope that folks outside the cult will be kind and helpful. The world is not as your church says it is. There are even nice nonbelievers out here. You have options if you want them.

And every so often I check in with myself to see how I'm feeling about it and to check in on my beliefs and values and attitudes towards the world to make sure that I am not letting things get to me in a way that leads to me to reactionary bullshit. For me, atheism is not a nihilistic giving up and shrugging. It's an active part of who I am.

So why would I be shy or ashamed or self-conscious about it? I put a lot of thought and a lot of work into defining who I want to be and being that person. Sometimes I am cautious about admitting it until I get a sense that people are not gonna treat me like shit about it, but that's yanno, normal for anyone not a part of the religious majority in this country. You gotta make a judgement call sometimes. Am I gonna get hate-crimed for being myself?

And, yeah, some leftist spaces are, no matter how open-minded they proclaim to be, still functionally culturally christian spaces that get real uncomfy if you don't pay lip service to the idea that believing in a religion or some vague form of spirituality is the default (and better) position and being an atheist is functionally an attack on people's beliefs more than simply holding different beliefs would be. (I don't care what you believe. Just don't force me to follow rules based on your religious belief system.)

There's something about atheism that I've repeatedly tried and failed to put into words on several posts on this blog but I think I finally got it.

Atheists are the only religious minority who, even (or sometimes even *especially*) in ostensibly progressive spaces are not allowed to ever act like they're sure of their beliefs.

[toallthingscinderellaboy]

Cinderella Boy Character Analysis

Buddy: The psychology of being a scapegoat (1/4)

Y’all. I wrote this character analysis wayyy back in December, days before the season 1 finale aired. Then because of the last line and the excerpt used, I decided to not post it because I was worried about non-fastpassers seeing the line and having the finale spoiled for them. So here we are 6 months later, and I am suddenly remembering that I had this in the notes app and decided to post it LMAO!!!!! I did add some slight changes to some of the wording because we have been knowing Buddy is a key now, but just know that a majority of these points were made before we knew he was a key. 

This is going to be a four part post about the psychology of Buddy, Chase, Buddy/Chase being different sides of the same coin, and then Deacon. 

Now let us begin with by far my most favorite character: Buddy. 

I personally believe Buddy to be a scapegoat. For those who are unfamiliar with scapegoats, it is often an individual, or group of people, within a dysfunctional environment who are unfairly blamed for any wrongdoings wether they are to be truly at fault or not. 

Dysfunctional families will have a scapegoat child in order to deflect any of the internal/external issues at hand and presume that the conflict is due to the scapegoat. Many scapegoated children tend to have many of their physical, emotional, and mental needs neglected due to the blame they are forced to carry. With this comes unique personality characteristics that can be seen in scapegoated children. I am going to go over some of these personality traits with Buddy and share why within the Ex-Libris ranks he is a consistently considered the scapegoat. We can also assume, that this has to do with him being the villain key and that by him being the villain key, it has allowed him to take on a scapegoated role. 

Character Trait #1: Trust issues

Scapegoats tend to have trust issues. Due to everyone around them assuming they are a consistent problem, they feel as if they cannot trust others with their vulnerabilities in fear it will be used against them. 

In episode 32 we see Buddy tell Chase “My life usually depends on not trusting them. So you’re absolutely right.” The reasoning as to why is because he has been unfairly placed in a scapegoated position. He believes that his life quite literally depends on not trusting others, and considering he is a key, then yes, his life very well depend on not trusting others. 

Character Trait #2: Strongly Defensive

Scapegoated children often are the only ones to ‘fend’ for themselves. When everyone points a finger at them, there is no one left to defend the scapegoat but themselves. Because of this Scapegoats are very, very defensive, believing even well intentioned constructive criticism is an attack. 

In episode 31 we see Buddy immediately get defensive with Chase. While they are fighting Buddy states, “You smug brat. As if you didn’t try to weasel your location out of me? You’re just as self serving! You’re not better than me!…You think you’re some kind of hero? You’re only here for one thing: narratonin....Don’t ever say that! You arrogant, self absorbed-childish little brat!” When called out for tricking Chase, Buddy immediately becomes verbally/physically defensive. (He’s also projecting but that is a whole different post.) Even though we all know Buddy was in the wrong, he chose to become defensive rather than calmly listen to what Chase was saying. 

We see this again in episode 53 when Deacon makes a jab at Buddy’s “baby teeth” Buddy immediately starts to say that “my teeth aren’t baby.” Rather than letting the statement go and realizing Deacon is making a half-hearted joke, Buddy starts to say that he would bite Deacon. Buddy can’t let even a small baby joke go without getting defending himself or attempting to prove that ‘no my teeth aren’t baby.’ 

Character Trait #3: Tend to speak the truth/point out lies

@Jthealien already made that the most amazing post about Buddy and his tendency to speak the truth, so please go check it out here 

I will add to this by saying that scapegoats are often scapegoats because they tell the truth. A dysfunctional environment/family can only remain dysfunctional if it remains unlit (aka lies only). Scapegoats often attempt to shed a light on the issues at hand by speaking out, only to be punished for it. This doesn’t mean they stop speaking out though. They continue to shed a light on the lies, manipulation, and cruel treatment. 

Although Buddy does not share a lot of information about himself or may lie through omissions, he never truly outright lies to Chase. 

Character Trait #4: Perfectionist

Scapegoats tend to have a perfectionist mindset. They believe that if they are ‘perfect’ they may finally be able to gain approval from the dysfunctional family. 

We have seen Buddy place emphasis on completing the books ‘perfectly.’ In episode 4 when Chase tells Buddy he found a shortcut to completing the books Buddy yells, “That’s not a shortcut! That’s cheating!” In episode  6 he challenges Chase saying he has to do the book with “No cheats, no bookmarks, no shortcuts. We also see Buddy practicing his lines beforehand in episodes 43 and 52. Placing an emphasis that he wishes to complete the books ‘in the correct way’ or ‘perfectly.’ Buddy most likely has this perfectionist mindset because he believes that if he can complete the books perfectly he will be able to gain someone’s approval, complete the book the ‘correct way’, or because he has been taught doing the book any other way is ‘wrong.’ 

Character Trait #5: Struggle to control emotions

Scapegoats tend to struggle to control their emotions for various reasons. When raised in an environment where emotions are constantly running high, scapegoats tend to struggle handling their emotions and react disproportionately to any given situation. 

In episode 25 when we have a flashback to the first time Buddy and Chase met. As Chase was explaining to Buddy that he found a key, and rather than hearing Chase out, Buddy chooses to grab Chase and verbally belittle him. In episodes 20/21 Buddy goes as far to smudge the dirt Deacon had been writing in and then dropping a rock on Deacon’s head. In both instances he had already insulted Deacon, but took things a step further due to him not knowing how to handle his anger/frustration/jealousy. In episode 31 Buddy begins to verbally/physically attack Chase on the island due to Chase simply calling out Buddy’s crude behavior. 

Final Thoughts

With all of these traits being shared, and with the knowledge that Buddy is a key, it is safe to assume that he has been scapegoated within the ex-libris ranks. We are not yet aware of the specifics, but for him to be placed in this role would greatly affect his self esteem, outworld views, and mindset. We see this throughout season 1. As we know, ex-libris is a shady group of people who value themselves first and foremost, it would make sense that as a result by treating the keys lesser than, it would create a scapegoat out of the keys. And if Buddy was once human, who then turned into a key….well what did he do as a human to allow them to turn him into a key? 

My guess is that Buddy was already a scapegoat within the ex-lirbis ranks. I am willing to bet that he found out how horribly himself/others were being treated, spoke against it, and as a result was punished for it by being turned into a key. The villain key no less. 

“The creation of a villain necessarily implies that of a hero, even if both are purely fictional. Sometimes it is the villain, or villains, who are in need of a greater villain. Especially in a time of crisis, unscrupulous leaders and politicians can cynically exploit the ancient and deep-rooted impulse to scapegoat to deflect and distract from their own inadequacies and evade, or seek to evade their legitimate burden of blame and responsibility.” (Excerpt from The Psychology of Scapegoating by Neel Burton.) 

“No. No, I’m not. I’ve never been the hero in any story. Not even my own. But I think, I’d like to be your hero. Just this once.” (Buddy, Episode 61, Cinderella Boy)

[phoebebuggers]

teaser preliminary thoughts

the opening scene being joyce and will talking about the vanishing of will byers was a very intentional choice - not only is will the central character this season, with a major plot point revolving around them discovering why and how will went missing and his connection to vecna (which i believe will also tie into holly's disappearance.) for a second i thought this could be a conversation about holly where joyce and will compare her being missing to what happened to will but i'm leaning toward no..it feels personal to me

the majority of the teaser was preexisting scenes, which i guess could be a little disappointing but it seemed like they wanted to ramp up the nostolgia with the st segment overall which is understandable for the show that "made" netflix. i also think we will be seeing those scenes with young will or maybe new ones from his disappearance as flashbacks anyways

edit: just realized i forgot this clip.. robin, will (*the* outfit!!) and erica in the background, not suure who's on the ledge behind joyce...someone let me know if you have a guess on what this wooden structure is, it almost looks like a stable or a barn. there's definitely some crazy shit behind that door, interesting that joyce seems to have a weapon and the other two do not. im really excited to see robin and joyce's dynamic (definitely see that playing a role in willl coming out)

i think there's a possibility that we'll see karen wheeler's character expanded on this season, possibly in tandem with the explanation for mike's behavior in the previous 2 seasons (the wheelers and conformity) as she takes on a role simillar to joyce in season 1. i'm wondering if this shot is before or after holly disappearing - also that one leak about karen getting injured (maybe in the process of protecting holly??) also, with the theme of conformity and ted wheeler generally sucking im wondering if his behavior this season will end up endangering the wheelers

definitely an emphasis on parent-child relationships this season (this is the third one we've seen). i think that we're going to see el and hopper working together in a way similar to the season 3 finale in a way that redeems that tragic ending, where hopper accepts that el isn't a kid who needs to be protected but a strong young woman who needs to be supported. i lowk have no idea what she's covering her ears about though, maybe coming down from projecting somewhere??

on the topic of hopper, rest in peace russia plotline, i have no idea how they're gonna resolve all that in hawkins lmao

seems like dustin is paired with the older teens again...which i lowk hate but it's kind of been that way since season 1 so i get it. i just don't understand the constant need to seperate him from the party. it looks like they might be in hawkins lab here, but i guess it could be anywhere

i was pretty much certain they were gonna show a shot like this in the teaser, max's coma is pretty much the biggest cliffhanger on the last season and they're going to continue to tease that. i love the coloring in this scene, i think we're gonna see lucas alone a lot this season in a more serious light than ever before (season 4 set the stage for this). i also don't see max getting a recovery until well into the second half of the season (but i do think she'll survive). i also think max is going to be up to a lot more than just laying in a hospital bed though, i really see her being able to reach el/vecna/will(?) through her mind and i think her and el will be paired a lot this season (maybe that's wishful thinking)

i think the two biggest mysteries they're hiding from audiences and shushing the cast about are whether max survives and whether byler is happening. and i think both of these things are happening...personally (notice that these two are the only couple shown together in the entire teaser).

this ss is bad but this is either two people (2 lights) or one person alone (1 flashlight and 1 lantern). i really want to know what that pink thing is, it almost looks like a head

mike is the heart of the party, blah blah blah....this shot really is so telling though like he's such a natural protector. i think we're reallly gonna see him return to his roots this season. it looks like the kids behind him are those new friends of erica's, and that's definitely joyce holding someone...they look too small to be will and i dont know why he would be hiding in the back like that anyway so i really dont know who that is. i think this definitely has to do with the vecna/mr whatsit plotline

im assuming erica is with this group as well but for some reason she isn't pictured. it seems like they're trying to introduce a kind of "new gen" of preteens this season which is a questionable choice for a finale but the duffers have always been good at getting us to care about new characters so i have faith.

finally will on his main character shit and the scream that was leaked - my working theory for this scene is that he's sensing something only he would know because of his connection to vecna and warning the other characters, possibly using himself as some kind of bait?? this is mostly a hunch tho. im not sure where he is here, it's definitely not the upside down but it looks kind of industrial?? the floor actually looks like to could be the same as the previous shot with mike but i dont think so

jonathan is getting absolutely ignored to my devastation, not a single feature unless he was the other character in that scene with joyce and the axe. i feel like he's one of the most likely characters to die but i really hope they do something interesting with him

nancy was also mia...we know she and jonathan are paired with steve and dustin at some point (car picture) but not sure what they're up to other than that nancy walk em down wheeler will be there im sure..

im down with the release schedule, we knew it was gonna be in parts and as a college student i am definitely glad it's during holidays/breaks because im going to want to watch asap. the wait might kill me though

on the topic of byler, i don't think this told us anything new but the fact that they didn't show mike with will or el at any point is good news in my opinion. will being front and center and mike taking a leadership role are signs to character development for both of them!!

[skeletonh0e]

hello! i was wondering if you could do an imagine of the boys with a workaholic reader? your choice of skeletons!

love your work btw :D

Thank you so much, sorry this took a bit, life has been hectic! I decided to do a draw the names outta a hat trick and narrow it down to just four, you got....

Killer, Red, Classic annnnnnd Ace!

You work too much ft, some of the boys.

Classic Sans:

Lazy x Workaholic, interesting dynamic

But honestly, he gets it. He works a lot too (not really). You've seen all the jobs he has right?

Here's the thing about that though, the more you work, the more breaks you get.

In others words....

Rest.

There is some tough love here, he'll always start off to gently tell you "hey relax" and when that doesn't work a bit more firmer of "relax or i will make you"

How will he do that?

Flopping onto you like a cat, putting all of his weight onto you (possibly even using gravity magic) and making it impossible to do anything.

He's grinning like a dumbass the entire time too, sorry, he loves you too much to let you stress yourself out silly.

Like he can fully respect that you are a naturally hard working person, after all he's gotten deep into some passion projects back in the day. A part of him honestly admires it, but he's never going to let it go too far.

And he has his methods of getting you to relax, aside from just laying onto of you, he'll hide your keys so you HAVE to call in from work, conveniently whatever you were working on is already finished, etc, etc.

It almost becomes a game, especially if you ever try to find workarounds to all the things mentioned above.

It's all silly but he loves you, don't stress yourself out please.

Underfell Sans:

Kinda does what Classic does but like....far far less tactful about it.

Will just grab you while you're working, drag you off somewhere like, "we're doing something fun, get yer' shit"

And suddenly just like that you're on break

Red is like very blunt, crude and yeah kinda mean, that tough love with Classic is doubled here.

"if you stay up any later you will get bags under your eyes and i don't want my s/o lookin' like shit" type beat

He means well, but yeah

He's a certified lazy fuck as you'd expect with any Sans, while there might be some form of admiration he doesn't get why anyone would willingly overwork themselves. Especially if it was a very demanding job

Also isn't he more fun? Don't you wanna spend more time with him? Huh? (he's not saying that because he wants to spend more time with tho-)

Will snatch your laptop, book, phone, etc to get you to stop.

Especially if work tries to call you in on a day off, full blown grabs the phone, tells your boss you're busy, then hangs up

Looks at you like "what?" afterwards, he did nothing wrong, you are busy.

Will also fucking lay on you to distract you

Unlike Classic he's a lot heavier tho so F in the chat there

Killer Sans:

You'll be buried in work then suddenly you have a knife placed right against your neck, not with enough pressure to hurt you but with enough to make you realize that it's definitely there.

How did he get into your house? How long has he been there? Who knows but he's come to give you a very important demand

"Rest. Now."

Will he actually hurt you? Unclear. I wouldn't push it though.

Like, he can respect the hustle but he does NOT like the idea of work taking advantage of you

Especially when he has his own shitty boss he has to deal with (we all know who)

So very aggressive forms of love here

Totally 100% threatens your boss into giving you more days off and insisting he make sure you're actually taking mandated breaks. Might even find a way to get you a raise or two

He got you boo!

Will also just drag you away from whatever you're working on to do something else, except it's basically a mini jump scare especially since he just appears outta nowhere.

However he can't really judge too much since he is also working a lot not willingly mind you, but still.

Will chill a bit if you assure him you're not being forced, that you do like working, etc. But not by that much.

Underlust Sans:

Workaholic? Him too bitch, the fuck.

He's a lot more tactful and far more reasonable than the other three bozos above as a result

See his policy is he does all his work on the clock only and instantly stops the moment he's off, but of course that's not a valid method in every work field

He's all about helping you pace yourself, like, he's not constantly nagging you but gives check ins, helps you set limits like no working long hours without at least one break, sets reminders

Probably tips he's learned over the years while being employed under Mettaton

....not as intense as Killer but if he suspects you're being taken advantage of, he'll help you go full Karen on your boss

As well as lecture you to not let others do that to you, you're better than this sweetie

Also he knows what it's like to have a job you like, excel at, and want to keep doing but constantly get bagged down by the expectations, demands and effort it takes.

Always here if you need to vent

He's very understanding, he does get it, alright.

All about finding compromises, but also he is not above bribing you, be it with cuddles, foods, things you like and well...he's definitely attempted to seduce you away from work at least once

If that didn't work he pouted about it for hours

This also ironically enough helps him phase himself at his work even better, largely because he refuses to be a hypocrite in any form

[7-deadly-cats]

GIRL YOU BE WRITING WHOLE ASS CHAPTERS YOURSELF LMFAO 🤣🫶 (love you for that)

i think he was surprised as well about the fact he got to have lunch with her parents bc he genuinely just wanted to drop off her purse (and have a little chit chat with her) and that’s it and then her dad straight up looked after him and i guess rafe just loved the attention and the way he was cared for and ahcjsjd

LMAOO yes i def see barry and reader as a very cool duo with both being chill with each other. like they probably wouldn’t hang out alone just to chill bc i guess they are not that close but i believe whenever reader visits him with cara, they just chit chat or let cara ramble about stuff and i just liked the idea that he feels protective over her bc idk guess he values her kindness and the way she’s not fake or such, so he just decided yep adopting that little alley cat. and LMAO maybe if i find the time i could come up with an extra 🤣

um, yeah, making their car convo long af and extremely unnerving was absolutely and definitely intentional to mirror rafe’s pov and the way she drives him to the brink of insanity and definitely NOT bc i’m horrible at keeping things short and bc i got lost in their little discussion hahahah 😅😅😅 👍👍

and i def had a hard time deciding whether i should write the convo from rafe’s pov or reader’s but i felt like rafe’s was more interesting. and i was also really unsure about what i wanted rafe to admit or confess but i guess for one he wanted to test if she may actually want a hookup too and two he was so frustrated with her the truth just spilled out 🤣

YESS him coming to the conclusion that he wants to have her around even after the project is prob my fav part of this scene (and him joking about making her a friendship bracelet lmao)

i def understand. i, for example, flirt with my male friends bc it’s fun but it def can get confusing sometimes 🤣💀 it can feel a lot like mixed signals and i guess that’s how it was for poor reader. and also, rafe is such a complicated person i don’t think he knows WHAT he wants either. plus he’s only got two options on his mind: short-time fun in form of hookups or (now) a friendship. this stupid boy doesn’t even consider a romantic relationship (yet)

AND THATS THE FUNNIEST PART OF THEIR WHOLE DYNAMIC LIKE HE DOESNT FUCKING GET THAT SHE'S HEAD OVER HEELS FOR HIM LIKE MY BOY. like HE thinks she's all nervous and anxious and always deflecting his flirt attempts bc she feels uncomfortable around him or doesn't like him. which is also sad af bc he subconsciously thinks a girl would never like him for who he is AHHHHH THIS BOY

about rafe and kie: this series in general is based a lot around canon stuff or takes inspo from it just with my own twist and i kinda picked up on the kie and rafe tension they have going on in the show (i know it's not explicitly stated what went on with them) and MY personal headcanon is that bc kms!kie and sarah have been besties as children, kie hung around a lot at tannyhill so she also automatically interacted with rafe and guess kie was the first girl teen!rafe would joke around with and such, so she kinda felt like a third little sister, but they eventually fell apart (for reasons i've yet to explain) and yeah. but it was def platonic (mainly bc i'm not a fan of riara oops)

ANYWAY HERE I AM WRITING A LONG-ASS REPLY TO YOUR LONG-ASS REBLOG WHEW

thx for always putting sm effort in your comments and thoughts and thx for sticking around <3

killing me softly | 16

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language & themes, rafe ovulating, angsty and overthinking reader, some verbal tension, some very long-ass conversation starting in the second half, reader having some intense episode of spiraling and need for reassurance, rafe being very dramatic at the end aka him jumping to the craziest conclusion known to man aka he's actually going insane (monologue only), also rafe being possessive and if you look closely also some unresolved trauma of abandonment, some hints at past platonic kiara x rafe

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ waking up with a hangover, the first thing you saw when opening your phone was the drunk texts you’d sent to rafe after getting home last night. the two of you had exchanged blurry selfies, and rafe had made some very suggestive comments. cringing at yourself, you texted cara to meet up later. after your shower, you found rafe in the living room bc he wanted bring you your forgotten bag. his bruise getting looked at by your dad (rafe later claimed he told your dad the bruise was an accident with a golf club). your mom invited rafe for lunch and they seemed to like him. afterward, you and rafe are left alone with him suggesting to continue your project. you being too hungover declined. rafe decided to drag you outside so you could properly sober up. in his car, rafe gave you his phone to shut kelce's spamming up. however, opening the chat, an upper body pic of kelce greeted you. after replying to kelce in rafe's name, you got a little too curious scrolling through the chat and finding thirst trap of rafe (the boys seemingly update each other with their gym progress). rafe caught you staring but he shrugged it off with a cocky remark. you finally arrived at the health store rafe claimed had magical anti-hangover smoothies. and somewhere between the car ride and the smoothies, you started to get the feeling that maybe, just maybe, rafe actually liked you more than you originally thought.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 10.4k+ (reader's fault)

✿ A / N ✿ getting to add some barry action into KMS? don't mind if i do hihihii;; also literally so anxious about this part (i know i say this with every new chapter help) bc the second half took me a while to figure out or rather i had a hard time debating how i wanted their convo to go AND which pov i wanted it to be in and ngl i actually had to keep my own patience in check with reader 🤣 and well, i’m always scared some stuff might feel forced or rushed, especially bc i’m aiming for a natural development BUT ANYWAY, it is what it is and i hope you guys enjoy. as always, lmk what you think <3

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

"That looks like the stuff that came out of me this morning," you said with scrunched-up brows as you crouched in front of the smoothies' fridge at Bulk & Bloom (shit, yeah, that was the actual shitty-ass name, and no, Kelce was not a co-founder).

And somehow, seeing you in that position there beside him, lips slightly parted in a way that could be viewed suggestive in a different setting, Rafe had no fucking clue why, but the sight did something to him. Suddenly, there was an urgent need to think of wrinkly old grandmas and dead puppies.

Rafe let out a chuckle. "Which end?"

You blinked at him, deadpan. “Your sense of humor is horrible.”

Fucking hell. And now you were looking up at him with that bratty gaze. Rafe tried to think about literally anything other than how badly he wanted to—

Fuck, what.

"Shit, still better than expressing my feelings through some fucked-up images that look like they came straight out of a crackhead’s brain," he shot back with a crooked smile.

Because yeah, your weird-ass reaction pictures? Only Wheezie seemed to understand what the hell those pictures were supposed to mean, or how to use them (not that he'd shown them to anyone else anyway). And Rafe still questioned his own sanity for actually asking his little sister to explain them to him.

Not because he cared, of course. He just didn’t want you to think he was beneath you when it came to that crap.

You turned your gaze back to the line-up of smoothies. "Should be easy enough for you to understand, considering you and the crackhead share similar hobbies."

Oh, how badly Rafe wanted to shut you up and teach you some respect in a way that made his blood rush faster and adrenaline shoot higher.

He had skipped the fucking coke this morning on purpose, and he was still having these insane thoughts. Worsening by the minute.

"Real funny," he muttered.

You chuckled. "Who says I’m joking?"

Rafe scoffed. You were definitely doing this on purpose—acting all bratty, just to get a rise out of him. And he seriously questioned how the fuck you had the confidence to act like that when just earlier in his car, you’d been a stuttering, awkward mess after he'd caught you staring at his post-gym pic like you’d just pulled a legendary FIFA card.

“Feeling bold now, huh?” he said. “Funny, considering you were damn near drooling on my phone a few minutes ago.”

And the little side-eye you threw him? Brows furrowed, lips pressed together? Rafe drank that shit up like ice-cold water.

He raised his eyebrows in anticipation as you looked at him. Yeah, how were you gonna talk your way out of that one? With another I-I didn’t mean to, sorry, I just—

"I'm not ashamed to admit that Kelce has a nice build."

what.

Rafe didn’t even feel his smile drop or his brows furrow because the sudden rush of anger hit so fast, it short-circuited everything else.

Like, what the fuck.

Obviously, he hadn’t been talking about fucking Kelce. It had been his pic. Him your nosy little ass had been staring at.

Shit. No fucking way.

Had he been right to suspect something during that project session at Kelce’s? Did you actually have a thing for that fucker? He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Couldn’t fucking understand how—

You little shit.

The second that sly smile crept onto your lips, the tension in Rafe’s jaw eased.

Shit, how badly he wanted to shut your mouth. And you still crouching next to him only fueled the flashing images in his head.

"Hilarious," Rafe muttered with a scowl, gesturing toward the fridge. "Now have you finally picked one? They all taste the fucking same anyway."

And you had the audacity to chuckle in response.

God, you were eating away at Rafe’s last nerve, which somehow just worsened the pressure building in his chest. And the crazy part? It was the kind of pressure he usually only got rid of when he was knee-deep in some random girl.

And that thought triggered more images. Of you. Sounds you’d make. The way you’d get all flustered and—

Fuck this shit.

No way he needed to get off that badly that you ended up being the one his brain fixated on.

It was just pent-up tension. Yeah, that was it. Just because he hadn’t gotten the chance to take care of it last night—thanks to fucking Topper crashing in the guest room with him—and you just happened to be the nearest girl around for his brain to throw into those kinds of scenarios.

It’s fine, he told himself. Gonna take care of that shit later at home.

"Well, you claimed one of them helps with hangovers," you said, eyeing him with an amused smile. "How am I supposed to know which one to pick when they're called..." You leaned forward (Rafe took that as a green light to check out your ass) and squinted at the name tags on the dumbass smoothies. "Maxx Mass Mango, Triceps Tropic Thunder, or," you let out an embarrassed laugh, "The Triple Load."

Rafe let out a low chuckle because the way you'd said it—so innocent, so awkward—was fucking priceless. You getting flustered over anything even remotely suggestive? Stupidly hilarious.

"I think one load will be enough for you today," he said with a lopsided grin, relishing the way you immediately looked away with a frown, all awkward again. Then he reached into the fridge for the Thirst Aid bottle and held it out to you. "Now let’s get the fuck out of here before the first wave of lunchtime joggers comes crashing in."

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“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Rafe unbuckled his seatbelt, grabbed his wallet from the center console, and reached for a backpack in the back seat.

Okay. Three funny things: One, he had clearly lied to you earlier at home because this definitely meant he was about to do something sketchy. Two, you still hadn’t recovered from those ridiculously named smoothies. And three… guess where you were?

Barry’s pawn shop.

Like yeah, you'd kinda figured he and Rafe knew each other with Rafe selling fucking coke to his classmates. And sure, Barry probably wasn’t the only plug in the Cut but still, funny coincidence that it was him.

Aka the same guy Cara got her weed from.

Aka the guy she lowkey tried setting you up with since you'd first met him.

Barry was chill and cool, and okay, objectively speaking, he had a pretty face if you ignored the tangled hair and commitment-issues beard. And yeah, okay, you did like him, but in a completely platonic way.

More like two bros. Except for that one very steamy dream you'd had about him once that we’re never, ever talking about again from this point on.

Okayyyyy, hahaha, moving on.

But since you were already here, you kinda wanted to say hi.

"The fuck are you doing?" Rafe snapped as he saw you unbuckle your seatbelt just as he was about to get out of the car.

You eyed him dryly. "Getting out?"

"No. I told you to wait here." Oh, this dude was DEFINITELY picking up drugs with that sudden change in tone.

"Yeah, I have ears," you said with a scoff, slinging your bag over your shoulder and reaching for the car's door.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. "I’m fucking serious. Stay here."

You chuckled at how ridiculous he sounded, your gaze flicking to the backpack on his lap. "Why? Because you’re about to do some sketchy shit in there?"

"Because I don’t need some girl clinging to my ass everywhere I go," he snapped.

Braincells = 0.

You blinked. "Correct me if I'm wrong but weren't you the one asking me to come along?"

He looked so dumb with his lips pressed tight, brows drawn, and hugging his backpack like a pissed-off schoolboy running out of patience.

Eyeing you with an irritated smile, he said, “You don’t actually think—”

“Okay, no,” you cut him off, body shifting back toward him. “Which part of what I've said offended you now?”

Rafe’s brows twitched. His brain was probably running a marathon trying to figure out why he was actually pissed off.

“I don’t have the fucking patience to argue right now,” he muttered, voice strained. “Just fucking stay here. I’ll be back in five minutes, okay?”

Considering his usual reactions, that was almost a polite reassurance.

“Well, maybe I’ve got business in there too,” you said, brows raised.

Oh, this idiot found that hilarious. His face lit up like a kid watching a clown trip over its own shoes. “Yeah, nah, I doubt that.”

You held his gaze without saying a word. He didn’t want a discussion? Fine. Let him stew in the awkward silence and realize how dumb he was acting.

National Geographic should honestly study this dude because the silent treatment riled him up more than anything else, and you were this close to snapping a photo of his dumb little expression.

He ran a hand over his face and nodded dramatically. “Fine, then come along, for fuck’s sake. Don’t piss me off. But don’t start whining if some crackhead in there gives you a dirty look.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to suppress a smile. He sounded mad, but: “So you were trying to keep me away from shady people. How heroic."

“If it helps the voices in your head,” he muttered, the most dramatic scowl painted across his face. “Now get your ass moving, don't wanna get stabbed out here.”

“I’ll be damned,” Barry said with a lazy grin as you and Rafe stepped into the little shop. “Country Club and Little Alley Cat showing up together? What is it—my birthday?”

You chuckled, heart skipping a beat for… WHATEVER REASON. OKAY, MOVING ON.

The shop was completely empty, aside from grumpy Larna who sat in the back room behind a desk, glancing up with a death glare before going back to whatever she was doing.

Fucking dumbass Rafe just blinked, flabbergasted and visibly disoriented. Apparently, he hadn’t expected you to know his plug, and for some reason, that made the whole thing feel like home turf.

“You two fucking know each other?” he asked, face scrunched like he’d just bitten into a lemon.

Barry chuckled, leaning on the counter. “You can bet your spoiled little ass on it.” Then he turned to you with a smirk. “And I see Little Kitty has finally gotten herself a guard dog.” He nodded toward Rafe. “Hoping you got him checked for rabies with that temper of his.”

Why did everyone just assume you and Rafe had something going on? You two weren’t exactly radiating happy couple energy. Then again, Rafe wasn’t known for having female friends (which you also weren't), so... yeah.

Rafe tilted his head toward you, ignoring Barry completely. “How the fuck do you know this fucker?”

You had to bite your lip not to smirk at the way he immediately got so worked up.

“Easy, pretty boy,” Barry cut in before you could even respond, clearly amused. “You better be nice to that lady or I’ll beat your rich ass.” He tapped his own cheek. “That bruise of yours? Don’t wanna end up with a matching one on the other side.”

OH. MY. GOD.

The butterflies in your stomach that usually went berserk for Rafe? Yeah, a few of them were dancing for Barry now. Because Dealer Barry stepping up for you in front of Dumbass Rafe? That was… kinda sweet, not gonna lie.

Rafe furrowed his brows, clutching the strap of his backpack like a schoolboy on his first day, about to throw a tantrum because he didn’t wanna go.

He squinted at you. “So what—you're secretly a fucking crackhead now, or what am I supposed to take from this?”

Seriously. Did this guy ever think before he spoke? Like, he literally dealt coke and snorted it himself, but you’re the crazy one?

At this point, you should question your own sanity for even crushing on this guy.

But the funny part wasn’t how hypocritical he was being, no, it was the fact that he chose to go after you instead of Barry despite him basically threatening Rafe. And there was no way Rafe would let a chance pass to put another guy in his place.

Which made the whole thing even more entertaining because, for once, he clearly didn’t have the upper hand. Usually, he carried this presence, this aura, that screamed “look at me wrong and I’ll beat your ass.”

But here? He seemed small.

Like a hyena baring its teeth at a lion.

Rafe Cameron, proud Kook and official Pogue-hater, actually keeping his mouth shut in front of little pawn shop owner Barry? Fucking hilarious.

“No. Sometimes I'm just tagging along when Cara's picking up her weed,” you said amused, watching the gears in Rafe’s brain grind themselves into dust.

“Miss Fancy Boots actually dropped by earlier,” Barry said. “Had her little mutt with her too.” He made a cupping motion in front of his chest, smiling all big. “Top barely holding on for dear life. Wouldn’t even tell me which backwood shack she was visiting.”

Oh, she was really trying to bag JJ Maybank this time. Best of luck, bestie.

You chuckled, but Rafe beat you to a response with a scowl, stepping forward and dropping his backpack on the counter. “Okay, fuck this. I’m not here to fucking chit-chat.”

Barry gave him a look, something sharp flashing in his eyes, but then he just laughed and peeked into the backpack. “Keep running that mouth and I’ll tell Lil’ Alley Cat who was whining on my couch just a few days ago.” He pushed the backpack back toward Rafe and nodded to the right. “Now move your ass to Larna. She's gonna take care of the rest.”

Rafe smiled bitterly, shaking his head. “Nah, that's not what—”

“I’m in a good mood today, Country Club,” Barry cut in, tapping the counter. “Don’t make me introduce you to the girl hiding under here.”

And somehow… you really didn’t think he was joking and you hoped Rafe knew how to behave.

Thankfully, he did.

With a scoff, he grabbed the backpack, threw you an unreadable look, and disappeared into the backroom where grumpy Larna was waiting.

"So, you and Country Club, huh?" Barry stepped around the counter, leaning against it with a lazy smile on his face. "Didn’t think you’d fall for a Kook prince."

After seeing his idiot side, I hadn’t thought so either.

You smiled sheepishly and adjusted the strap of your bag. “He’s not—I mean, there’s nothing going on between us.”

Barry let out an amused chuckle. “Was already wondering how he managed to get you to stick around, ‘cause that stupid boy?” He pointed his thumb toward the backroom. “Nothing but daddy issues and anger problems. Ain’t worth one look from an Alley Cat.”

Shit, that stupid nickname? Only Barry could make it sound right.

“Yeah, he’s an idiot,” you said with a soft smile, sounding like a widow reminiscing about her dead husband. “But he’s actually kinda fun to be around once you figure out how to deal with him.”

Were you seriously defending Rafe’s stupidity right now?

Barry raised his brows, eyes lighting up with the biggest grin. “Cat’s all smiley and dreamy over a boy. Didn’t think I’d see the day.”

“What? No, I just—” Heat crept up your neck and you shook your head with an embarrassed smile. “We were paired for a school project. That’s how I got to know him better.”

“Ain't seeing you doing school work right now,” Barry replied, his grin widening. “Must be serious if he’s letting you tag along to this stuff here.”

I actually annoyed him so much he just gave in.

You shook your head again, feeling like you were digging your grave deeper with every word. “No, I’m serious. This is just—”

“I’m just messing with you, Lil Kitty Cat. No need to puff your tail,” Barry said, raising his hands with a lazy chuckle. “But you should watch out. Wouldn’t call that fancy-looking boy my friend, but I know his type well enough to say—if he’s keeping you around, there’s a reason.” His tone shifted ever so slightly. “Don’t want my Alley Cat getting bitten by some spoiled hound dog.”

You eyed Barry quietly for a moment. Him warning you about Rafe stirred something strange in your gut, and part of you knew better than to ignore it.

But right now, you were too scared to question it, so all you did was offer a soft smile. “He’s more of a wired Doberman anyway. Big attitude, but pull the leash once and he gets all dramatic.”

To your surprise, Barry didn’t laugh. “A dog’s a dog. They bite if you’re not careful. And for a sweet kitty like you? That shit can turn bad real fast.” He nodded toward the backroom. “And Dobermans? You don’t wanna pull their leash too hard. Loyal and shit until they start thinking they own you. Then it ain’t cute no more. Had an uncle—couldn’t be around people without his mutt flipping out. Damn thing almost took my hand off once."

Your brows furrowed in irritation. It had been funny when Cara had joked about Rafe being possessive and jealous and all, but hearing Barry say it like a genuine warning... yeah, that hit differently.

And suddenly, Rafe’s weird behavior since yesterday started making sense.

Him getting mad when Topper asked you to come along. Him nearly beating the crap out of Rob for no reason. Him now suddenly wanting to spend time with you, being all flirty and suggestive and—oh god, please no.

Maybe this wasn’t about him liking you. Maybe he just hated the idea of someone else playing with a toy he’d throw away the moment he got bored, found another, or worse, shredded it to pieces. And until then, he'd bark at anyone reaching out for it.

The smoothie you'd drank earlier threatened to come back up. You didn’t want to be someone's toy.

“Aww, no. Didn’t mean to wipe that smile off your face, Kitty Cat,” Barry said, his lazy smile returning. “I’m just saying—be careful around a boy like that. Though, I trust you’ll know when to pull your claws out.” He knocked on the counter and chuckled. “Otherwise, just say the word, and I’ll introduce his fancy ass to my girl.”

Barry probably meant well, but your brain had already soaked up his words like a sponge, throwing them into a spiral, dragging them into the most anxious corners of your mind.

Still, you managed a smile. “No worries, Barry. I don’t think he even—”

You didn’t dare finish that sentence as Rafe came out of the backroom, a deep scowl on his face. He didn’t even look at you as he passed between you and Barry, only muttering, “Let’s go.”

“Nah, nah, nah, Country Club,” Barry said, raising his brows and pushing off the counter with a grin. “We ain’t done yet.”

Rafe stopped, turning back with a glare that practically screamed he was done with everyone. He towered over Barry, but somehow still looked small. “I got your shit. What fucking else do you wanna piss me off with?”

Barry ignored him, smiling softly at you. “Was nice seeing you again, Alley Cat. Don’t go running off too far.” He nodded toward the door. “Now get those little paws outta here, I still got some business with this boy.”

An uneasy feeling spread in your stomach, but you knew better than to argue, so you just smiled with a nod. “Yeah, see you around, Barry,” you said, trying to ignore Rafe’s burning stare on you.

You passed him quietly, trying to suppress the sudden thoughts threatening to tear open a pit you thought you’d buried not even a few days ago.

And while you’d entered Barry’s little pawn shop with a smile and warmth in your chest, you left it now with uncertainty in your eyes and a deep heavy feeling in your gut.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

“Okay, what the fuck is going on between you and Barry?” Rafe asked after the two of you had gotten back into the car.

And the reason for that question? Such a funny fucking story. And it started with you even knowing this fucker in the first place. You two apparently getting along—and oh, fun fact—apparently getting along really well, because guess what? Barry hadn’t kept Rafe in the shop to talk business. Oh no, he hadn’t just talked.

He had fucking threatened him.

Said stupid shit like he’d show Rafe how people in the Cut handled things when no one was looking if Rafe didn’t behave. If he dared to hurt or play with you or whatever fucking else Barry had preached like some back-alley saint.

Rafe couldn’t even wrap his head around what that fucking Pogue thought he was doing. Like if Rafe actually wanted to, he could send every cop in town straight to Barry’s crusty little pawn shop and have him write his bullshit threats on the damn cell wall.

Fuck. Like seriously, what the hell was that shit?!

You just shook your head, a weird smile on your lips that didn’t even come close to your eyes. “What? Nothing. Like I said, he’s Cara’s dealer. That’s how I got to know him.”

And now you had the audacity to lie straight to Rafe’s face in his car? Nah.

“He literally threatened to blow my brains out if I looked at you the wrong way,” Rafe said, tapping his temple with a confused laugh. “Like—what kind of crazy-ass psycho bullshit is that? And that weird-ass nickname? No way in hell he isn't your fucking boyfriend or some shit.”

The idea that you belonged to someone—Barry, of all people? That messed with Rafe’s head in ways he couldn’t even begin to explain. It filled him with such rage and confusion, he was so close to grabbing that damn backpack on the backseat, taking out a bundle of coke that stupid grandma had handed him, and snorting a line right off his Mercedes' hood.

But he was so thrown off by your sudden change of demeanor, your whole vibe completely off since Rafe had come back from the shop—strange, distant, almost... bitter—that he decided he'd rather demand some fucking answers.

And when you just smiled weakly instead of snapping back like usual, pushing his buttons, he knew something was up.

“No, that’s just how he is,” you said while buckling your seatbelt, the weird tone in your voice not sounding like you at all. “He only means well.”

Rafe blinked at you, his chest tightening as your eyes finally met his, but something was missing.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on?” he asked, his voice sharper than he meant it to be.

Your brows twitched, and there was a flicker in your gaze he couldn’t place. Again, that strange smile that didn’t fit your face. “What? Nothing,” you replied, shaking your head slightly.

Just nothing. Normally you’d say some shit like, ‘Why are you getting all worked up, I don’t owe you any explanation, blah blah’—but this? It confused Rafe. And it pissed him off that he couldn’t figure it out.

“Barry said some shit to you?” Rafe raised his brows.

That was the only logical explanation. You went in all cocky and smiley, and now you looked like someone had shot a puppy in front of you.

You shook your head again, and Rafe felt a sharp stab of disappointment from how empty you sounded. “No, I’m just tired. Guess the lack of sleep’s finally catching up,” you said with a soft smile.

Rafe clenched his jaw, fingers tapping against the console. He was this close to snapping, but he didn’t want to yell. You’d probably shut down completely. Wheezie did the same thing when Dad started raising his voice and Rafe hated witnessing that.

“Okay, something’s clearly bothering you,” he said, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “You’re always on about how important it is to talk shit out, and now you’re the one being all weird.”

Seriously, why did your behavior even bother him in the first place? Normally when some chick was trynna act sulky he’d drop her off at her place or kick her out immediately because he didn’t care about that shit.

But with you, he somehow couldn’t and that irritated the fuck out of him. Probably because I deserve some fucking answers.

“There’s nothing to solve because there’s no issue,” you finally said softly, clearly bullshitting.

Rafe clenched his jaw, running through every possible reason why you were suddenly acting like this. “Fuck that. There’s obviously an issue.” He tapped his chest with his fingers. “Did I say something that got the minions in your head running again? Shit, I was just pissed earlier because—”

“No, really. Everything's—”

“Fine? Don’t bullshit me. You were all bold and mouthy earlier and now?” Rafe furrowed his brows, trying to understand what the fuck was going on in your head. “Now you’re acting all wilted and melancholic like Topper after some chick rejects him.”

That got a chuckle out of you, and Rafe felt his features soften.

“I’m not acting wilted,” you said, a little amusement finally slipping back into your voice.

Rafe nodded. “You are. I’m guessing Barry ran his stupid mouth while I was gone.” He narrowed his eyes, another thought hitting him. “Or did that fucker creep on you?”

“What? Oh my god, no,” you replied, shaking your head, puzzled. “No, it’s just…” You held his gaze like you were the one with questions. After a second, you looked down at your fidgeting hands, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I guess you’re right. I’m probably just creating a problem in my head that doesn’t even exist.”

Rafe frowned. “What the fuck did he say?”

You looked up, pretty eyes somehow carrying that sad little shine again, and Rafe had to fight the sudden urge to storm back into Barry’s shitty shop and drag the guy’s face across the counter.

“I...He didn’t exactly say it… I mean, I’d already been wondering...,” you started, clearly struggling to continue.

Rafe was so fucking close to losing it. He shook his head and gestured to his chest again. “What, huh? Me dealing coke? Is that what suddenly has you all scared? Shit, I’m not some criminal like Barry, okay? I just—”

"No, that's not it", you cut in, voice lacking your usual attitude. "I mean, sure, it's—"

"Holy fucking shit, just spit it out." Rafe couldn't bear you dancing around the answer any longer. Aggressively he gestured toward the pawn shop. "If Barry didn't fucking harass you then I seriously can't fucking imagine what's got you acting like this."

You pressed your lips together, eyes wide, brows raised like some deer about to get shot. "I don't know how to phrase it without it sounding like I'm ... delusional or crazy."

Rafe scoffed amused, both hands gesturing toward you. "Shit, you are crazy. Now fucking spit it out or I'm driving the car into the next fucking tree."

"Okay," you replied with a laugh, the smile quickly fading as your gaze drifted to the fidgeting fingers in your lap. "Okay, I just—" You seemed to take a deep breath in. "What's your business with me?"

Rafe blinked. “What?”

“I…” You pressed your lips together, clutching your bag tighter. “I’m not saying there is any business," you said, a nervous chuckle escaping. "I’m just… confused. I mean, I know we’ve had this conversation before. I know it’s stupid, I’m just…”

You furrowed your brows, meeting his eyes again. “You need to understand, I’m not trying to piss you off. I mean, you're probably right. It’s just my brain spiraling over nothing again. It's just… shit, I know this here is completely casual, I mean we aren't even friends, I just..."

You let out a strained breath, voice unsteady. “I’m not trying to accuse you of anything. I really don’t wanna come across like I’m assuming something’s going on in the first place. I mean, you already think I’m crazy,” you said, a distant smile tugging at your lips. “But obviously it’s totally fine if you’re only looking for a chance at some temporary fun. It’s just… in the hypothetical case you actually do expect something to happen...”

Another awkward laugh slipped out, and you sank into your seat, brows furrowed as you smiled nervously, “God, this is so embarrassing. I’m sorry, I probably sound—”

“Holy fucking shit, you need to chill the fuck out,” Rafe cut in, staring at you like you’d lost your damn mind. Because this? How much fucking longer did you wanna go on?

This was absolutely insane. The way your brain made up all this shit. How the fuck did you even function at all?

He pointed to his temples, eyes wide. “Seriously, this is not just borderline crazy. This is straight-up insane. I mean I am going insane just by listening to this."

“Well yeah, that’s actually what I was trying to say,” you muttered, hands fiddling in your lap. “I just don't understand why you'd wanna hang out with me if I'm getting on your nerves—unless there's some other motive.”

Jesus Christ. Rafe didn’t know anyone with this level of anxiety and overthinking. Not even Wheezie came close.

But that wasn’t what really pissed him off.

Sure, if you were a little nuts, fine. It was even kind of amusing, honestly. At least you had the brains to think about shit.

No, what really pissed him off was that you were questioning him, even after he’d already told you the answer to this topic in school just a few days ago. He'd just tried to help you by suggesting to work at Tannyhill for the next project session but you fucking declined because you'd thought he was just trying to hook up with you.

Okay, yeah, maybe at this point the idea of sleeping with you wasn't exactly unwelcome—though with your nerves, you'd both probably have a mental breakdown halfway through—but it wasn’t about that.

It was about the fucking principle.

You were acting like his word meant nothing. Like he was just some lying, sleazy, piece-of-shit Pogue.

Rafe clenched his jaw, using every ounce of self-control not to snap. “There's no fucking other motive. You make it sound like I'm plotting some crazy-ass shit.”

Your brows twitched, lips pressing together. Somehow, you still didn’t look satisfied.

For a moment, you just stared at him, hesitation flickering in your eyes, but then your voice came out soft, so soft it made Rafe's chest tighten in a way he didn’t like. “I’m not trying to be annoying or—”

“You are,” Rafe interrupted, surprised by the lack of bite in his tone. His face twisted and he raised his shoulders, gesturing at his chest. “Like, I don’t fucking get why you’re questioning me when I already told you—”

“I know.” You nodded, frustration leaking into your voice. “I know and I really appreciate it, but I just… it’s my brain, okay?” You tapped your finger against your temple. “It talks shit and I start believing it and I just can’t stop it. And then I get anxious—especially when someone gives it something to chew on—and it’s just so frustrating because I'm definitely not trying to piss you off, I don’t wanna ruin—I mean, I’m just asking for some reassurance, that’s all.”

Your brows knit together. “But then again, I don’t want some fake reassurance either if you actually—”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I like hanging out with you, okay?” Rafe pressed his lips together as the words left his mouth, not even sure why the fuck he’d said them. Why he even cared enough to listen to all this bullshit. But right now, all he wanted was to shut you the fuck up, so he didn’t bother filtering.

“I’m not trying to get in your pants, alright?” he added, wearing an irritated, almost amused smile. “I’d have to be fucking desperate to put up with all your messed-up crazy shit just for the chance to hook up with you. That's... fuck, I’m not that needy.”

He gestured to you, frustration seeping through his voice. “You piss me off, but I can deal with it. Shit, I think I even like it. You’re not some boring-ass gossip bitch like Ruthie.” He furrowed his brows, refusing to unpack what the hell that meant, now tapping his chest with his fingertips, voice strained. “But what I can’t fucking stand is not being taken seriously.”

Judging by your face, he hadn’t just shut your brain off, he’d completely nuked it. Your eyes were wide, lips pressed tight, and even your fidgeting had stopped.

He half expected you to start crying for whatever reason, but thank fuck you didn’t. You just frowned, that softness still in your expression. “I do take you seriously. That’s why I'm so confused. All these… I don’t know, suggestive comments and stuff. You say you don’t mean anything by it, but then you’re all teasing the next second. It’s confusing.”

Seriously, had you ever even interacted with a boy before Rafe?

He let out a frustrated smile, nodding. “Shit, yeah, ever heard of fucking flirting? That’s the thing people do because it’s fun. It doesn’t fucking have to lead to anything.” Rafe raised his brows. “Unless you want it to.”

And there it was again—that shift in you. Your whole vibe changed, whenever he said shit like this. And he couldn’t fucking tell if you were flustered, uncomfortable, or just weirded out.

You shook your head, a nervous laugh bubbling up like he’d asked you to strip in the backseat. “Of course, I know what flirting is. It’s just—In my head, this feels like… I don’t know mixed signals or whatever and—“

“Okay, fuck. Stop.” Rafe had hit his limit. He ran a hand over his face, voice tight with frustration. “I’m only saying this once, so fucking listen, alright?” He gestured to you again. “I fuck with you. You’re somehow fun to be around, even though you’re literally the least chill person I know.”

His brows twitched, a moment of hesitation flickering across his face, but he pushed through. He wasn’t gonna overthink—he wasn’t you. “And shit, yeah, of course, I’m flirting with you. You’re a cute chick. If you said the word, I’d be down to bend you over in the backseat right now, but why the fuck would I waste my energy on someone who’s clearly not into casual shit.”

Fuck. Now that he’d said it, he felt just as stunned as you looked.

Saying these words out loud ... it angered him. He'd basically just given in to you. But the thing that actually riled him up? The fact he'd just acknowledged out loud that he knew you weren't interested in him. That he couldn't get you into bed with some charm and a little flirting. That you were out of reach.

And fuck, this just made hanging out with you all the more confusing because why the fuck did he enjoy this shit if he was well aware that he wouldn't take you home later for some quick fun.

But worse than all of that was the way he found himself waiting.

Desperate for your response. Hoping you’d push back. Hoping you’d say something—anything—to let him know he'd just interpreted your signals wrong, that, yes, you did indeed find him attractive, that you actually enjoyed his presence, his flirts, and teasing. That you'd love to be his new friends-with-benefits-chick.

Jesus fucking Christ, he should go back inside Barry’s store and beat the shit out of that fucker for whatever the fuck he'd said to you that made you spiral this hard, and now Rafe was out here saying and thinking shit like this.

"Okay, now I'm even more confused," you said, smiling awkwardly. "You say you like spending time with me but at the same time, you also feel like you're wasting your time here."

Rafe was so close to smashing his head against the steering wheel. He raised his hands in exasperation. "And you say you're not trying to piss me off but right now I'm so close to losing my shit."

He aggressively tapped his finger on the middle console. "I just tried telling you that I'm not here because I'm looking for a chance at a fucking hookup, okay? Seriously, how much clearer do I need to be?"

“Okay. Just to clarify, for my own sanity,” you started slowly, voice soaked in nervous energy (Rafe was literally one second away from having a fucking stroke). “You like hanging out with me but according to your logic, you're not someone who's wasting his time with a girl if you're not gaining something from it."

With a pained expression, Rafe closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and nodded with a distressed "Uh-huh".

Maybe if he just continued agreeing with you, then you'd finally shut up, because clearly snapping back only seemed to continue dragging on this horrible limbo of yours.

Some strained chuckle escaped your lips. "And considering you're still asking me to chill with you even though you seem to be aware that I don't wanna be someone's pastime, does that mean… I mean, is what you're hoping to gain from spending time with me… a friendship?"

Rafe's head snapped up.

That was your fucking conclusion to all of this?

Fucking hell. Did he look like someone in need of more clingy idiots crowding his life? Topper and Kelce were already enough and he didn’t even receive anything in return for dealing with their bullshit.

And having a female friend without getting to bend her over once in a while? He'd never even considered it. The only girls Rafe had ever privately hung out with were the ones he'd benefit from.

And all of them either got so fucking annoying, he'd dropped them, or worse—they'd wanted more. Dates, gifts, PDA. A label. The title of Rafe Cameron's girlfriend.

They all wanted the benefits that came of being with him but none of them had actually wanted him.

But you? Well, he had to admit you were different. You didn’t do hookups. You didn’t chase him because of his last name and the benefits that came with it.

And the crazy part? That just fucking pissed him off more.

Because for some fucked-up reason he'd actually learned to tolerate your presence enough that he could deal with your crazy-ass brain outside of the project despite him not receiving some fun time in return. And now you assumed he wanted this to actually result in some permanent shit.

But for whatever reason, the idea that this might be over after handing in your project next week? That actually stirred something weird in his chest.

Right now, Rafe could still claim the project was the reason for you two spending time together (if you ignored the fact you weren't doing school shit at the moment). Sure, he’d admitted he liked you—but everything about the way you two had been hanging out this past week could still be chalked up to the assignment. But once that was over… then what?

Fuck, all of this was giving him a headache. And now you were pressuring him to define whatever the fuck was going on between the two of you.

Rafe shook his head in irritation. "Why do you even need a fucking label for some casual hangout? Can't we just fucking chill?"

You gestured to your chest, a distressed smile on your face. "Yeah, of course. I just… my brain needs to make sense of this somehow, so I can place this in either ‘okay, this ends when the project’s over’ or ‘alright, get ready to make space for this person, they’re gonna stick around.’ It’s fucking stupid, I know, but it helps me adjust to new people."

This right here was the biggest fucking test of patience in Rafe's entire life and he was so fucking sick of you demanding him to clarify shit when you were the one that made him question his sanity.

"Shit, I don't fucking know, alright?" Rafe raised his shoulders with an irritated smile. "I mean what the fuck do you want? You’re calling me confusing, but I don’t even fucking know if you actually like me or if you’re just tagging along because you’re too scared to decline because of some people-pleasing bullshit or whatever.”

Like he'd admitted all this fucking shit just now, but why didn't you? Why didn't you offer him some reassurance?

Your gaze softened, and that only irritated him more.

“I'm actually very capable of saying 'No',” you replied.

“Yeah, the fuck do I know.” Rafe threw his hands up. And then, a disgusting thought crossed his mind. “Or are you just tagging along because you're hoping for some attention of being seen with me?”

Finally, your frown returned—thank god. That little bit of fire he was used to.

“What? No!” You shook your head, clearly confused. “Aside from the fact that I couldn’t care less about shit like that, I’d rather jump off a cliff than draw unnecessary attention to myself.” Your expression softened again, lips quirking into a crooked smile. “I came along because I wanted to. Not because I’m trying to get some pics snapped of me being seen with an A-List celebrity.”

Just say it, Rafe thought, not even caring about your stupid comment. You were so fucking close to saying it. Tiptoeing on the edge of it. So damn close to saying what he needed to hear.

But you didn’t. And it pissed him off. Fucked with his head. Just—

Fuck all of that.

Maybe it sounded pathetic, maybe it was, but he didn’t care. He had to know. “So you actually do like hanging out with me?”

A soft laugh left your lips and your brows knit slightly. “Yes? I’m not spending my time with people I can’t stand.”

And just like that, something in Rafe finally let go. He exhaled a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. It felt like a win—even though he hadn’t actually won anything. Actually, he’d probably lost some fucking braincells discussing that shit.

He sank back into his seat, staring through the windshield, running a hand through his hair, no fucking energy left after this marathon of a discussion.

He tilted his head toward you with furrowed brows, motioning between the two of you. “So where’s the fucking problem, huh? We both like hanging out and neither of us is hiding some secret agenda or some shit.”

You smiled awkwardly. “Except you literally said—”

“Yeah, I know what I fucking said,” Rafe cut in, already regretting having voiced that he'd be down to bend you over. But whatever. It was out there now, so who the fuck cared.

“I’m not some horny perv who's unable to be in a room with a chick without trying to get in her pants,” he added, a lopsided smirk tugging at his lips. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna pass up on a little flirting and teasing.”

You raised your brows slightly, chin tilting downward. "So—"

"YES, for fuck’s sake!" Rafe raised his hands, shifting up in his seat, absolutely at the end of his rope. "If that helps to end this fucking stupid discussion, then yes please, go ahead and tell your crazy-ass brain it can open a new fucking folder titled ‘I made Rafe Cameron lose his fucking mind to the point where I force-befriended him’. And put some big-ass lock on it because that shit stays closed from now on."

He let out a strained breath, an exasperated smile twitching on his lips. "There. Does this shut you up or do I need to craft you a fucking friendship bracelet with my name on it?”

The worst part: The image of you wearing his name around your wrist sparked fucking JOY in his fucking chest for some fucked-up reason.

SEE. YOU'RE MAKING HIM GO THIS FUCKING CRAZY, HE WAS GETTING EXCITED ABOUT STUPID FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS.

You just stared at him, lips parted slightly like your brain was still spiraling over the obvious. Rafe almost thought he’d have to go back into the pawn shop and ask Barry to blow his fucking brains out, but you simply shook your head, a gentle smile forming.

“I don’t think that’s necessary", you replied with a soft smile.

Rafe eyed you impatiently, waiting for you to go on and spiral into another damn monologue about how you had to figure out the right color for this mental folder, and which fucking font would best match the content—because god forbid you’d use some bullshit like Papyrus or—WHAT THE FUCK DID HE KNOW, JESUS CHRIST YOU MADE HIM THINK ABOUT THIS FUCKING BULLSHIT.

To top it all off, you had the audacity to stay quiet and Rafe could physically feel his nerves blow up. “That’s it?”

No fucking way that actually resolved this fucking discussion.

You eyed him amused like he’d just hallucinated this whole fuckass conversation. “Well, yeah.”

Rafe’s brows dropped to a scowl. “You're fucking kidding me, right?”

“No.” A small laugh left you, and that familiar glimmer was back in your eyes. “I just needed some clarity to calm my nerves. That’s just how my brain works. I’m okay as long as things make sense. But the second a thought enters my mind that could mess with that—even if it’s ridiculous—it sticks. And then it ruins the whole logic. And until the thought can be ruled out, it stays, and my head chews it up until it gets worse.”

That's it. You were officially the reason Rafe considered therapy just so someone could tell him why the fuck he even put up with your shit.

Like, seriously, Rafe had some fucked-up shit going on in his head, but you? Holy shit, if he had to deal with the crap your brain pulled every day, he’d fucking lose it.

Your head sounded like a fucking prison.

Rafe let out a distressed breath. "Now, care to tell me, what was the actual fucking reason for you spiraling this hard in the first place?" He gestured toward the pawn shop. "And don't fucking think about lying. Either you tell me or I'm gonna go back inside and beat the answer out of that fucker."

He wouldn’t, though. Barry might’ve looked like a little bum, but Rafe had seen it enough times—his threats didn’t usually stay just threats. And sure, Rafe might’ve had the upper hand physically, but Barry didn’t do fights.

He'd pull out a gun and even Rafe's fists had no chance against that.

You pressed your lips together, hesitating for a second. “He just told me to be careful around you. It wasn’t even really what he said, it was more the way he said it.” You shook your head, puzzled. “And I guess my brain just filled in the worst-case scenario because… well…” A flicker of uncertainty in your pretty eyes. “I mean, not to sound like a dick, but it’s just a fact that you don’t really hang out with girls. And when you do it’s like... you know.”

Yeah, that was true. Rafe didn’t deny it. But still, why the fuck did you have this fucking player image of him?

Sure, he did hookups once in a while—every few weeks maybe at some random party. And yeah, he’d had friends with benefits, but like four or five times at most in his whole damn life. But the way you made it sound? Like he was out here fucking someone new every night.

“So instead of just asking me straight up what’s going on, you’d rather fucking… what? Sulk and act weird as hell? What kind of childish reaction is that?” Rafe asked, face twisting in frustration.

You let out a short laugh. “I didn’t wanna piss you off by bringing this up. Which, clearly, I did.”

“Well, yeah, because I practically had to beat the answer out of you,” Rafe said with a scowl, motioning to his chest. “What actually pisses me off is when people won’t just say what the fuck they're trying to say.”

You nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, makes sense. I’m sorry for making this so messy.” A soft chuckle slipped out. “I guess we both value clear answers… just on different scales.”

Yeah, except Rafe didn’t have a mental breakdown when he didn’t get one.

“I just don’t fucking understand why you can’t just ignore these fucking thoughts,” he said, oddly calm for some reason. "When some shit starts bothering me, I just fucking ignore it. If I need to make a decision, I just do it. If some asshole pisses me off? I put him in his fucking place.”

He scoffed. “And your brain sounds like one big asshole. You just gotta show it who's boss.”

Surprisingly, you laughed—soft, genuine—and Rafe blinked, confused.

“What?” he asked. “I’m serious. It’s absolutely insane that your own mind is your worst enemy. That’s fucking fucked-up.”

He gestured to himself. “I mean that dude pisses me off so badly, I wanna smash his face into a wall just to get him to shut the fuck up. How the fuck do you let him pull this shit on you?”

“That’s—” You laughed again, and something weird flipped in Rafe’s stomach. “I appreciate the energy,” you said, “but honestly, I’m already good when people just have a little patience with me.”

Your expression grew distant. “When I bring stuff like this up, I’m not trying to be annoying. I’m just genuinely trying to find clarity in the chaos up here.” You tapped your temple, smiling gently again. “That’s why I really appreciate that you actually talked with me this time—even though I’m sure you wanted to smash my head through the window.”

He'd rather have your head pressed against some sheets to let go of this fucking pressure inside him but Rafe forced this thought down (see? easy).

So he just shook his head. “I did but I’d rather not have your dad on my ass because of that. That dude’s got some crazy aura.”

Another laugh slipped from your lips, and Rafe felt his features soften. “I guess. He served as a combat medic in the military, so I think some of that still lingers beneath the surface.”

Shit, that made sense. Rafe knew there was a reason that guy had given him the creeps the first time he'd looked at him. He seemed nice, sure—kind even—but deep down Rafe was certain that man could knock someone out cold with a single punch.

The weird thing was: Rafe actually felt less tense around him than around his own dad.

“Shit, another reason to keep my hands off you,” Rafe muttered with a low chuckle. “Don’t need Liam Neeson in Taken chasing me down.”

Another laugh. And damn, that made Rafe feel like some kind of winner.

“I doubt you have to worry", you said. "He actually seemed to like—”

Your phone started buzzing inside your bag.

"Cara," you said when you pulled it out with an apologetic smile. “I should take this.”

Rafe gave a reluctant nod, even though the sudden interruption annoyed the fuck out of him.

“What’s up?” you said, holding the phone to your ear. After a beat, you added, “I’m with Rafe.”

His head snapped up like he’d been struck by lightning.

That was... he couldn’t remember you ever saying his name out loud before. And now that he’d heard it—coming from your sweet voice—fuck.

It did something to him. A weird kind of something. Buzzing in his stomach, warmth blooming in his chest, and this deep, unfamiliar ache for something he couldn’t quite name.

“Really?” You laughed. “We’re actually close by—Yeah, at Barry’s—Girl, no—Yeah, I know he told me—Yeah, I know I was the one who asked you—Okay, yeah, sure—So I assume you're with—yep, thought so—Okay—Seriously?—Alright—Yeah, nah, let’s not.” You laughed again. “Okay—Yeah, see you in a bit.”

You hung up, your whole presence lighting back up.

“Sorry,” you said with a soft smile, slipping the phone back into your bag. “She’s at the beach nearby and asked me to join her. Or well... I kinda asked her earlier if we could hang out, so....”

Rafe felt a frown creeping in, disappointment taking over his entire body. You were about to fucking ditch him.

He raised his brows. “Now?”

You nodded, toying with your bag strap. “Well... yeah. She needs some backup.”

“What, her boots got stuck in the sand or some shit?”

You shook your head, chuckling. “No, she’s with some people and… well, she needs help with a boy.”

“Her?” Rafe scoffed, disbelieving. “She’s the most upfront and confrontational person I’ve ever met. What the fuck does she need help with?” He tilted his head. “And didn’t she have some thing going on with Topper?”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” you said, holding your hands up in amusement. “She’s super complicated when it comes to that stuff.”

Girls. Rafe didn’t fucking get them.

“So what, you want me to drop you off now?” He didn't even try to hide his disappointment.

Your smile faltered slightly. “Well, yeah, that’d be nice.”

Rafe clenched his jaw. You were actually going to leave him now—after he'd helped you get rid of your hangover, after he’d actually shown patience and calmed the voices in your head, after all his nerves were fried beyond repair.

You were scared he might play you? Nah, he was the one who felt toyed with right now.

But as much as Rafe wanted to call you out for it, snap at you for being all anxious and now daring to pull this shit, he just didn’t have it in him. No strength left. He really didn’t have the fucking energy or patience for another long-ass conversation with you monologuing about shit.

Sure, he could just decide to tag along, because when did Rafe ever ask for permission, but his gut told him that was a weird fucking move. He wasn't your fucking dog to accompany you everywhere.

Fuck, he didn't fucking know how to handle shit with a girl like you.

So he just nodded, buckled up, and started the engine. Letting out a tight breath as he pulled out of the parking lot, he asked, “Where to?”

You hesitated for a second. “Do you know where the western beach of the Cut is?”

Rafe scoffed and nearly stopped the car. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Of course, he knew where that fucking beach was. Sarah always went there after school to hang out with her stupid little Pogue friends.

So yeah, he could already guess exactly what kind of people Cara was hanging out with: those annoying-ass rats.

The thing that pissed him off the most wasn’t even you ditching him. It wasn’t driving you around like a damn chauffeur. It wasn’t even that you were trading him for a group of Pogue losers.

Nah. It was the fact that Sarah had once again managed to stick her nose into shit that didn’t fucking concern her. Because somehow this reeked of her meddling.

And the worst part? It felt like she was winning again. Like she’d won over their dad, like she'd won over Kie during her time at Kildare Academy by turning her against Rafe just for them to end up having some bitchy fallout shortly after.

Like she’d get to win you over too with some fake-ass bullshit.

And you, being prone to falling for shit like that with that brain of yours, would probably believe her too. Not because you were naive, nah, but because your head would probably soak Sarah's sweet words up, falling back into a spiral over Rafe's intention or some bullshit.

Fuck.

Rafe actually liked this weird acquaintanceship with you (THERE, THAT'S THE LABEL THAT FIT THIS SHIT). He didn’t need Sarah to ruin that—or worse—take you from him. Pull you into her little shitty-ass, feel-good Pogue bullshit friend group.

And the most fucked up thing? You weren’t even his. But the very thought of Sarah turning you against him anyway?

Nah. He wouldn't let that happen.

You said Rafe was hoping to gain some shitty-ass friendship from this? Fine. If that’s what it took for your brain to hold on to Rafe, he’d gladly be your fucking friend.

He’d throw every goddamn principle he had out the window before he let Sarah take something else from him before he even had a chance to claim it for himself.

Because for the first time in years, Rafe actually felt like he didn't wanna let go of a girl. Nah, he actually wanted to keep you around. Not as some warm body in his bed—it fucked with his head that you weren’t into hookups but he could accept that—but because somehow, you were the first girl who didn't hang on his ass to brag to her friends later about getting to ride his dick.

Shit, if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were either a lesbian or just completely uninterested in sex altogether. Which only messed with his head even more, because if both of you were here willingly, what the fuck was the point if no one was gaining anything from it?

Like, why the fuck did Rafe feel this pull toward you? Not just sexually… more like—fuck, he didn’t even know. He also couldn't compare it to the short-lived whatever-thing he'd had with Kie either because he'd only ever seen her as some extension of Sarah that he tolerated. Thinking of her even remotely sexual had just felt fucking weird.

But you? Being around you came close to landing a hole-in-one during golfing, the feeling after being praised by his dad, the way his body buzzed after a line of coke. Which honestly made him wonder if the perfume you were wearing was laced with chemicals or some shit that messed with his head like that.

Fuck, this? Him thinking about this shit at all—that was your fucking fault.

Rafe just knew he liked having you around so there was no need to let you go.

For now.

So as much as he hated, despised, and loathed the idea of you ditching him for some beach party with dirty-ass Pogues and Princess Sarah, by now, he'd learned that if he kept his temper in check, his patience with you would pay off.

Shit, he'd even add a little bonus.

So, when you'd asked if he knew the way, he shot you a raised brow and a casual side-eye, and in the most unbothered tone he said, “Yeah, it’s just down the road. Assuming your friend's succeeding with that guy, I’m guessing you’re gonna need someone to pick you up later.”

And when your brows twitched and your eyes lit up, Rafe knew he was one step closer to keeping you around for real.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this series is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

@ursogorgeous13 @my-name-is-baby @moneybaby07 @jjasmiineee @sttaejoon-blog @vogueprincess @princesspeaxhh @wtfisastiles @wefelldowntherabbithole13 @rafes4 @kathryn-maraudersversion @wuluhwuhmaster @torturedtypewritersdept @sfotiegiuls @ltristessedureratoujours @stoned-writer @lunaleah @akobx @cokewithcameron @b00klvrs @rafesdrew @mattyskies @yktayy9669 @beabafreakbee @c1gsafterwhat @drewstarkeyswife-7 @wtfdudesblog @akobx @wintercrows @miaaaoa @setmefreemyg @pogueprincesa @chimchimjiminie16 @drewstarkeysrightarm @wtfdudesblog @wolfstarsimpxx @emmiesummers @brycesfav @ayy1234567 @rgeraldg @stanseventeen @louvrgirl @chaoticromantic @drewstarkeysrealwife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @psychicnatural @mysticbby2009 @oreocheescake-12 @miniiminie @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @drewstarkeyywife

[munsonsmixtapes]

I’ll Help You Get Over It (4)

fuckboy!eddie x fem!reader

When working on the project with Eddie, you wonder if maybe he’s not the guy that everyone thinks he is.

cw: hurt/no comfort

Living with the Buckleys is such a drastic difference from living with your parents. They all make conversation that’s not about your significant other or school. They actually seem to care about you and your interests, encouraging you to go after what you want to do. It’s so refreshing, so freeing to be able to be your own person.

You stand in the mirror in the guest room, turning this way and that as you take in your new outfit. You’re wearing a cropped t-shirt and a pair of shorts that would have definitely been deemed inappropriate. But you don’t have to worry about being stopped at the front door anymore. You can wear whatever you want now.

It’s your first day back at work since the whole incident with Eddie and Josh. Since your ex has now been banned from the premises, you don’t have to worry about running into him again. You blocked his number too so now he has no way of getting hold of you. You’re finally free of the bastard and couldn’t be more thrilled about it.

You pull up to the arcade and hold your head high as you get out of your car. You then head towards the building with a brand new attitude, actually smiling at your coworkers as you head into the break room to clock in. And why shouldn’t you? You’re a free woman now.

“There she is,” you hear a voice behind you And Steve and Robin are standing at the table, a cake sitting on it. It’s covered in chocolate frosting and the words “good riddance” are written on the top in red.

“Congrats on your break up,” they say in unison and you match their wide smiles. They know you so well.

“Thank you so much,” you say, looking down at the cake then up at your friends, deciding that you couldn’t have asked for better ones.

“Robin told me that you kicked his ass. Is that true?”

“No,” you glare at Robin then swipe your pointer finger across the letters off the cake before licking the frosting off of your finger. “I punched him in the face, which is not the same thing.”

“Still,” Steve shrugs, stepping over to stand in front of you. His hands clap your shoulders as he gives you a shake. “You stood up to him and that’s all that matters. I’m so proud of you.” He pulls you into a hug and you squeeze each other tight.

Steve has always been someone you've felt like you could confide in. Even though his familial trauma isn’t the same as yours, you still know that he can relate to having parents that don’t behave as such. He’s been there for you for so long and he’s so proud that you finally did something for yourself.

“Thanks Stevie,” you reply as you both pull away then punch in and grab your vest from the locker before heading out onto the floor. You thought you’d be more nervous to be back in the place that showed you just how much of a monster Josh is but you’re not. You’re actually so glad to be back and somehow missed this place during your few days off.

You stand behind the prize counter, scrolling through your phone when you get a text from an unknown number. You really hope that it’s not Josh because you really can’t deal with him anymore.

Hey, it’s Eddie. Are we still on to meet tonight to work on the project?

You find yourself smiling as you read his message over and over before typing out a quick response as a girl around your age comes up to the counter.

Yep! Your place, right?

Yeah. See you soon!

“Hey,” she smiles. You immediately recognize her from one of your classes and remember her being nice to you. She let you borrow her notes when you missed a day because you were sick. She’s wringing her hands as if she’s nervous and now you’re curious as to what she has to say. “I know Eddie Munson hangs out here a lot and I know you’re friends and I was wondering if you’ve seen him around. I was supposed to meet him here.”

“Oh.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Just when you think Eddie is a nice guy, he pulls this kind of shit and it immediately turns you off. You really wish he would stop stringing these poor girls along. “He’s actually sick. I just talked to him earlier and he seemed really out of it from the cold medicine.”

You don’t know why you’re covering for him. He doesn’t deserve it. Especially not after being such a pig. You can’t believe you actually fell for his bullshit. You don’t know much, but what you do know is that you’re not getting trapped in Eddie’s gross web.

“Oh, poor thing,” she pouts. “I’m gonna make him a care package.” With that, she turns on her heel and you’re quick to pick up your phone and type another message.

Your flavor of the week was just here asking for you and I covered your ass so I’m expecting you to repay me somehow

You can just see the smug smirk that’s probably playing on his pretty lips when his reply comes through.

I can think of a few ways ;)

Just kidding

Talk to me like that again and I’ll castrate you.

Kinky

It’s a wonder how you get women into your bed when you talk to them like that.

Well to be fair, we’re never doing much talking.

You’re disgusting

With that, you turn your phone on do not disturb, then set it on the counter again. You don’t know what you were thinking. For a second there, you were actually starting to like him. And now it’s like a switch flipped and he’s back to his old fuckboy ways. You guess guys like him really don’t grow up.

The way he spoke to you mixed with seeing that poor girl look so sad just makes your blood boil. It’s clear that the only person Eddie Munson cares about is Eddie Munson and you’re wondering if maybe you had him all wrong. Maybe that whole “nice guy” thing is all an act that he was using to try to get you into bed.

You feel so stupid for not seeing it sooner. He’s just like all the other guys in town and you don’t know why you thought he’d be different. And now part of you wants to delete his number and take the F in the class just so you don’t have to see him again. It sounds really inviting, but you know you can’t afford to do that. The “perfect girl” image you’re trying to maintain won’t let you. Besides, you know how stubborn you are and there’s no way that you’re going to let Eddie win. You absolutely refuse.

The rest of your shift goes by at a glacial pace since it’s weeknight and it’s not busy. But then eight o’clock rolls around and it’s time for you to clock out. And now you’re dreading going over to Eddie’s. After the way he spoke to you, you’re considering canceling and hanging out with Robin and Steve tonight. They invited you to watch a movie with them and you’re so close to changing your mind.

You mutter to yourself under your breath as you clock out then head to your car, texting Eddie that you’re on the way before pulling out of the parking lot. You feel so stupid for actually falling for his nice guy act. He just-he seemed so genuine yesterday morning when he was telling you that his apartment could be a safe space for you. Your skin crawls now when you think about what he really meant by that.

Eddie feels like such an idiot right now. He had a good thing and of course he had to go and blow it. That’s what he’s best at. He’s just so used to being flirty that he doesn’t really know how to be genuine anymore. Now he’s afraid he’s turned you off and that wasn’t his intention.

He just doesn’t know how to behave around you when he’s sober. You’re just so nice and pretty and he wonders what that jackass did to be able to get the privilege to be able to call you his girlfriend. He supposes that Josh didn’t really do a great job since he’s your ex now.

He decides that he’s gonna be on his best behavior. He’s going to be a gentleman and just be your project partner. And for the first time, he’s going to apologize for being gross. It was totally out of line and he wishes he could take it back. He’s going to keep his distance and be respectful, keeping the conversation on the project and nothing else. Even though it’s going to kill him to do so.

There’s a knock in the door and he’s quick to fix his hair in the mirror by the door. He pushes it behind his ears then shakes his head and puts it back to the way it was. He then opens the door with a wide smile which quickly drops when he sees how angry you are. You storm into the apartment and he hates how much your anger is working for him.

“You know, I really thought you were different, but it turns out that you’re exactly the kind of guy I thought you were.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, realizing how badly he messed up by seeing how angry you are. “I didn’t mean it. I just-I don’t know how to talk to you. You make me nervous.”

“Do women actually fall for this bullshit?” You’re less mad now and more amazed at how easy it is for him to trick people.

“This isn’t some game to get you into bed, y/n. I genuinely am sorry and it won’t happen again.”

“Good,” you nod. “So let’s get started. Do you have your songs?” You’re not sure that you believe him, but it’s a start.

“Yep.”

You both head into the living room and you feel nervous showing him these songs. They’re so personal to you, almost like the words were taken directly from you and put onto paper. The second you heard them, you felt so seen. For the first time in your life, you felt understood.

You sit on opposite ends of his couch and you connect your phone to the speaker that’s sitting on the coffee table in front of you. Your heart races in your chest when you hit play, wondering what he’s going to think when you show him how you actually feel.

And if I was some paint did it splatter

On a promising grown man?

And if I was a child, did it matter

If you got to wash your hands?

Eddie watches you as the song plays. Just by looking at the way you feel so connected to the lyrics, he can tell that you can relate to them. He knew the guy was older than you but now he’s wondering by how much.

Now it all makes sense. To you, Josh was some cool, older guy. That was the appeal. And he used it to his advantage. He picked you because he knew he could manipulate you. The whole thing makes Eddie sick, especially when he sees that you’re crying now.

He knew it was bad just from what he saw of the two of you on campus and now he’s beginning to think that it was actually much worse. He’s not thinking as he scoots closer, wanting to bring you some comfort even though he’s not sure how to.

If clarity's in death, then why won't this die?

Years of tearing down our banners, you and I

Living for the thrill of hitting you where it hurts

Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first

That last line seems to hit you hard and now you’re sobbing. Eddie scoots closer, your thighs touching now. He slowly wraps his arms around you and you lean into his touch as you accept his hug, burying your face into his neck.

The song ends and Eddie pauses the next one before hugging you again. His hands rub up and down your back as he whispers comforting words to you, unsure why this feels so natural to him. He’s never been good at this kind of thing.

“It’s okay, baby,” he says in a hushed tone. “You cry as much as you want.”

This is years of pent up feelings that you were never allowed to explore otherwise you were being “dramatic” and your parents never would have understood. But here? Here, you feel like you finally have the option to be yourself. You don’t have to put on a mask and hide. If you want to cry, you’re going to cry as much as you damn well please.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize as you pull away, shocked by the angry look on Eddie’s face.

“You don’t ever have to be sorry for feeling your feelings. I’m here for you, you know that.”

“Why can’t you always be like this?”

“Like what, honey?” He’s trying his best to pretend like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. If he does then maybe you’ll drop it. You’re seeing right through his facade and he’s panicking. He’s spent years building up this reputation, this wall. And you’ve managed to start tearing it down in a matter of weeks.

“You’re so sweet and thoughtful. You’re so unlike the guy who was texting me earlier. I like this version of you.” He’s fighting back a smile because deep down, he likes this version too. The only other person who gets to see it is his uncle, Wayne.

“What version?” He tilts his head to the side like a little puppy and you ignore the fact that he’s trying to act all innocent.

“The real version. The real you. You don’t have to hide from me, Eddie. You don’t have to act cool around me. You’re not trying to get into my pants, remember?” You lay another brick on the coffee table and he’s close to kicking you out. He doesn’t want you to see anymore. You’ve pulled back the curtain-you’ve taken off his mask. And now he has no idea what to do.

Neither of you seem to realize how close you are to each other. Thighs pressed together. Mouths just inches apart. It’s almost like you could just lean in and-

You’re the one who starts it. It’s a little peck at first, but then your lips slot between his in a gentle kiss. He’s nothing but polite and respectful which catches you off guard. You imagined that kissing him would be all teeth and tongues and roaming hands-not that you’ve been imagining it.

He’s cradling your face so gently, like he’s afraid you’ll break as your hands are in his hair. It’s progressively getting more needy and neither of you seem to notice that you’re now straddling him.

Eddie would never tell you that this is the best kiss he’s ever had and he’s going to think about it for a long time. He’s not going to tell you how badly he wishes he could do this whenever he wants. And he’s definitely not going to tell you that he’s fallen for you. And hard.

You both seem to realize what you’re doing when you moan into Eddie’s mouth when his tongue slides past your lips. He breaks away first and you sit back on his lap, chests heaving. This is so wrong but you look so right sitting there. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He knew that as soon as it did, he’d be wrapped around your fucking finger and look where he is.

He tries to get up and you’re quick to get off of him as he stands. You sit on the couch as he paces back and forth, his hands messing up his hair even more. You’re able to ask him what’s wrong when he turns to you, like he suddenly remembers that you were there.

“You have to go home,” he says with a sudden sense of urgency. God, what has he done? He fucked everything up and now he’s not sure if he can fix it. He was afraid this would happen and now he’s going to have to do something he wishes he didn’t have to.

“Eddie-” You’re trying to get his attention in an attempt to get him to calm down, but that only seems to make it worse.

“Get out!” he yells and your eyes widen, so close to tears. It’s breaking his heart that you’re crying but this is what has to happen. You have to leave right now so he can pretend this never happened.

You rush to grab your things and hurry to the door, tears pricking your eyes again. There’s so much that you want to say but you can’t find the words. You feel like it’ll hurt more if you give him the cold shoulder. Your parents warned you not to get involved with a guy like him and you guess they were right.

The door slams as soon as you get into the hallway and you cry all the way to Robin’s house. This whole thing was a mistake and you know it. The first time you act impulsively and you get burned. As you get into your car, you promise yourself that you’re not getting involved with anyone else. Now is the time to focus on yourself and you’re not going to let anyone-not even Eddie Munson-ruin it.

part one part two part three

taglist: @walleloveseve

[hikato-chan]

I've seen a bunch of role reversal Shizun!LBH AUs and I completely love the SJ is SY Fics, so please consider:

SVSSS AU where SY is LBH's disciple, except he is also the deaged amnesiac rouge cultivator childhood friend of the sect leader.

For this to work SJ would have to have been unable to join CQMS. Maybe he had killed WYZ earlier and actually trained as a rogue cultivator, maybe he just wasn't accepted into the sect when he killed him.

The Qing Jing Peak Lord would have had to search longer, the Peak lords took a bit longer to ascend and LBH ended up in the QJP Head Disciple position.

Then, SJ stumbled over some long discarded Wife plot. Something cute about learning about someone's childhood and how it shaped them. It never saw the light of day because Airplane couldn't figure how to cure it. Dual cultivation was obviously definitely out but since the entire plot was simply too cute to post he never created the plant that was supposed to be the antidote.

Somehow YQY gets wind of it. Maybe SJ is constantly followed. Maybe they made up and SJ is wearing something that he can use to signal for help. One way or another he's found and brought to CQMS.

But when SJ wakes up, tiny, he's not remembering being SJ but he remembers being SY. They conclude that the plant took almost all of his memories, and decide to keep him in the sect until they figure out how to reverse it.

Now, YQY taking a personal Disciple would be very very odd and invite too much scrutiny, so they test him and eventually decide that he should go to QJP with LBH's approval.

This entire thing would 1. Cause LBH so many crisis about age. That's his disciple! But he's also technically older than him? But he's deaged and lost his memory! But sometimes he acts like a mature adult?? Are the dirty thoughts he has about his disciple a crime or normal??? What does he do???

And 2. It would keep the connection to YQY. I just always pity the guy and I don't want to think about how little disciple SY looks like he could be SJ's child. How YQY looks at him like he has a second chance maybe or that SY is a walking reminder of YQY's failings. How YQY keeps projecting his issues on some random child. Don't let it be random! That's the guy he failed that he keeps failing! (But at least he's still here. Still alive. If SJ and SY are different people he doesn't get even that)

I'm not planning for it to be reversible tbh. I just want him to also have been SJ once with all that comes with it.

[chimera-dreams]

This Tiny Thing Called Entropy

As rain patters at the walls of the enclosed space you find safety and solace within, a knock echoes on your door. Upon opening it, you find the face of a familiar man, who's come to ask for your help.

Task Force 141 Ensemble x reader

tags: tags and warnings to be added by chapter | violence, reader has a nickname/callsign, slow burn, weird mix between modern and future, dystopian, androids, see full list on (Ao3) (registered users)

wc: 6.3k

Chap 1 | chap 2

You had mixed feelings about your workshop.

On one hand, it was a space wholly your own. The walls were decorated with entire ranges of tools, each drawer and cabinet always had at least two pencils inside them (because you seemed to be constantly losing them when you needed one most, and got sick of looking for one). The tables and benches were covered with various objects, the floor littered with scraps from projects you devoted yourself to.

Everything you had, you sourced yourself. Whether easily or painstakingly, every single item filling any available expanse belonged to you. Bits and bobs you worked your ass off to get your hands on, supplies that made your life immensely easier, whatever it was, it was yours.

Nobody was allowed into what amounted to your sanctuary of sorts. You kept your secrets tucked away here, hidden in plain sight, a purposefully messy space to keep your own paranoia in check. Not that you’d ever let anybody see it all to begin with, but on the off chance someone did happen to chance a peek, all they would see was a hobbyist’s devoted disaster zone and nothing more.

The area was alive, the same way you were, and different all the same. Ticking toys sat on shelves, both worn and new, awake and asleep. Clockwork contraptions that could fit in the palm of your hand, carved wooden figurines, trinkets – your workshop was a time capsule of sorts, a hodgepodge of a person’s fascinatingly old interests. 

You had favorites, the ones you hated with all your soul and wouldn’t trade for the world, the ones you held begrudging respect for.

Most important to you was the little music box you had.

It was hidden more than everything else already was. This place could get burned to the ground and it would mean nothing to you as long as the music box was safe, unharmed. It was a gift from someone long gone, now. Someone you missed dearly.

There was a tiny safe you personally installed under the floorboards, air and watertight, a preservationist’s dream for the object they were most greedy for. Most desperate to protect. That is where you kept the music box.

This was your home; you treated it as such, and loved it as much.

On the other hand, this was where you saw the most pain. This was where you spent countless days and nights banging together new parts, carving wood, stressing over bills and the prices of materials, waiting to be hired for your next gig. Not many were hiring mercenaries at this time of year. It didn’t help that your prices were fairly high, compared to the next person, but that’s only because you worked hard to build a reliable reputation. You got shit done, and you got it done cleanly.

You prided yourself on your work. Not just the toys you fidgeted with, microscopic details taken apart and put back together with painstaking caution and heedfulness, but the things you did for whoever happened to be employing you. It was what you had to do to survive, and you weren’t about to half-ass your own life. Not after all you’d gone through, been through, and would have to endure.

Compared to the ordered disarray of your home, you were clean and quick with jobs. You got in, nabbed what you needed, snipped loose ties, and got out. The wage you charged was well deserved, earned through years of assiduous effort and exhaustive toil. You had a solid reputation for good reason, obtained through blood, sweat, and tears – rarely your own, of course. You’d gotten better at spilling less of your own, never leaving a trace that you were ever present.

Unfortunately, it was looking like you’d have to lower your service fees. You were in a bit of a pinch, having to choose between necessities to make ends meet. 

Electricity, gas…can live without food for a bit…maybe water, too. Need electricity, though. Can live without heating…

Rain pitter-pattered against the window in the other room as you tinkered with a small toy in your hands, something to entertain yourself with. A bit of company. 

The worst of the storm had already passed, leaving behind soothing relief that washed the world of its sin. As much as you would have loved a window in your workshop to ponder the weather and get some natural light into the room, it’d unfortunately bring too much attention to your…pastimes. The things you did weren’t favorable to all, whether innocent or not. In their eyes, it was all the same, all done for the same purpose.

In a world like this one, you had to be vigilant and careful of who you trusted.

The less people who knew about you, the better.

So, you kept yourself and all you knew secret.

A couple more twists of your screwdriver was all it took for the little clockwork bird in your palm to come to life. Its wings twitched, stuttering at first, struggling to grind open and closed, too sleepy to wake. Its beak clicked, its tiny legs shuddered, and then, it took a breath.

Beady eyes found yours, and you grinned down at the creature, watching it flutter its wings before settling comfortably in the cup of your hand.

The wee thing must have belonged to a child, a once well-loved toy that was left to rust on the street. You spotted it tucked into the crook between a storefront and the cracked cement sidewalk, and took it in a split-second decision. It took a fair amount of disassembling and scrubbing to get all its components cleaned up and functioning again, but it was worth it in the end. Now, you had a companion to sit by you when you worked late nights.

Rising from your seat, you swept your hand around you, giving it a provisional tour of your workspace. It wasn’t much, really, but it’s the one thing you could distinctly call home.

“You’re lucky I found you,” you said, showing off the number of boxes containing various clockwork pieces. Gears, nuts, hinges, chains, whatever you could possibly need to fix something old, make something new. “I had everything I needed to get you all better. Couldn’t let you go to waste.”

It hopped, looking over all your tools and equipment judgmentally, like its tiny head could comprehend anything, then looked up at you, appraising.

Your lips curled upwards. “Not a thought behind those eyes, huh?”

You were both startled by the sound of a fist knocking against your front door. Firm, assertive, confident. The bird – a chickadee, you believed; you chose to name her Chicken on a whim – flew up from your hand and zipped out of your workshop, wings beating as fast as they could to carry her up to the space between the cupboards in the kitchen and the ceiling. 

Heart pounding in your chest and sinking low, you slowly slinked out of the room, walking on the tips of your toes. You slid your inner wrist across a hidden panel on the wall inside of it as you went, triggering a mechanism that whirred quietly. A pocket door closed shut behind you, sealing until it was flush with the wall and completely invisible, hiding your secrets. To anyone who didn’t know, they’d simply believe that no room existed behind that particular wall to begin with.

You weren’t expecting any guests. Nobody had messaged you regarding work, you lived in a low-contact, low-population area, and never gave your address out. Most likely, it was someone you knew, but you always had to be cautious. Anybody could come stalking up to your home, weasel their way through the gaps of your teeth, choke you from the inside out until you turned blue. You had to be careful, because any mistake could get you in deep shit.

Any mistake could spell your doom. 

Permanently.

You stalked across the floor, wanting to give the illusion that nobody was home unless you proved you could allow entry to whoever was seeking refuge within your walls. Options for if they weren’t friendly flashed in your mind; the blade on the small table beside the door, the pistol in its drawer, the fire escape. Worst case scenario, you could either fight, or climb out the window in your bathroom.

Leaning against the door ever so gently, you stood higher on your toes to peek out the peephole, adjusting until you could see who was on the other side, and almost melted in relief. Safe.

Letting a cheeky smirk tilt your lips, you undid the range of locks on your door and pried it open, taking in the familiar face on the other side. You hadn’t realized how much you missed the man until you were face-to-face again. What was that saying – distance makes the heart grow fonder?

“Well, I’ll be,” you crooned, saccharine sweet. “If it isn’t one Mr. John Price.”

“Good to see you, too, doll,” he responded lazily, tipping his head in greeting, his voice as rough and drawling as you remembered. He still wore that silly boonie hat of his, still had that odd excuse of a beard, and still looked at you with those knowing, icy orbs. He grunted out a small ‘thanks’ when you stepped aside to let him in, taking no offense at your habit of opening the door only enough for him to fit through before it was closed behind him once more. Locked tight. Just in case.

Raindrops clung to his shoulders and the brim of his hat, dotting them like silver crystals, gems held together by surface tension, not yet ready to burst and seep into the fibers of his woolen jacket.

You motioned towards the tiny, two-seater table you had situated beside the end of the kitchen counter and moved to fill your kettle with water and plant it on the stove. Behind you, a chair scraped out from under the table, and John groaned lowly as he esconced into it, joints cracking.

“Sure you aren’t ready to retire yet, old man?” You teased, dropping sugar cubes into one of the two mugs you pulled from the cupboard above you. A tea bag went into each one – black tea, and butterfly pea tea. A rare taste of color in such a bleak, copper world. You knew he wasn’t particular to it, though.

“Maybe, I should,” he said. He sounded tired, worn down, taking your jest a bit too seriously for your liking.

Troubled, you looked over your shoulder, and found him staring at the wood grain beneath his clutched hands, unseeing. Distracted and distant – nothing like the man you knew. Granted, it’d been a while since you last met up, but you were confident enough to say that this behavior was very unlike him.

Sensing he needed some time to gather his thoughts, you kept busy with pouring the boiled water into the mugs, adding a spot of cream into both, and bringing them over to the table. Black tea for him, sweetened butterfly pea tea for you. Same as it had always been between you.

Your new friend must have decided John was safe, if you were treating him as a companion. She hopped down from the cabinets and flew over to him, landing on his shoulder.

That broke him out of his shaky trance. 

He turned his head to eye her curiously, and she tilted hers in return, beady pupils taking in his features; scraggly, rugged, and something distinctly him.

“New project?” He voiced, drawing his mug towards himself.

“Found her on the street a few blocks from here. Figured it’d be alright to patch her up.”

“She looks brilliant. Haven’t lost your touch, have you?”

Warmth spread through your chest, and not just from the tea you sipped down.

Silence with him was comfortable, but he was restless, needing to fill the quiet; you could sense it from your seat. Unusual. 

“How are you holding up?” He queried.

You smiled placatingly. “All’s in working order. Don’t worry ‘bout me, Cap. How about you? How’re your boys?”

He sighed, weary and crushed by the unimaginable weight of responsibility on his shoulders. 

“Could be better,” the man admitted. His vulnerability unsettled you.

The edge of your ceramic cup clinked dully on the table. “Your job starting to catch up with you?”

“Something like that.”

The quiet dragged on a beat too long for your liking. You’d seen him in all sorts of states before, but dejected was not one of them. It made you uneasy, restive. Nervous, which was never good.

John Price was many things. Strong, certainly, anybody could see that. A capable leader, older and wiser than his visible age would leave you to believe. Smart, thoughtful, he planned everything in advance and never did things on a whim. His visit to you was deliberate, organized. Why?

“Heard a silo blew up a couple miles outside the city. That you?” You propped your chin up on the heel of your hand, fingers curled against your cheek, filling the empty air between you with something.

A muscle in his jaw fluttered. “Failed mission. Got bad intel. They had the whole place rigged. By the time we cleared the building, it was too late.”

Rage flickered to life beneath your ribs, your nose wrinkling along the bridge. The joints of your knuckles clicked, nails digging into your palm.

Gangsters, packs, cliques, whatever you wanted to call them, they were a pestilence. Rotten, parasitic cretins that leeched off the backs of the poor, taking the little money and land they owned. If you could, you’d burn them yourself, strip them of their flesh, their dignity, their pride, reveal the poison that spoiled the gums lining their necrotizing teeth and corroded their innards into melted puddles of decaying goop; once organs, now unrecognizable viscera.

It was people like them that would execute men who weren’t able to cough up protection money from their starved gullets and take their wives and daughters. 

It was people like them that triggered the downfall of technology, all because they felt inferior to a different form of being, too slow to keep up with the quickening times.

They missed their train, and decided to blow out the entire railroad in the name of unjust revenge.

“Damn savages,” you grit out. “They’re trying to scare us out of the city.”

It was a war that never ended. There was always at least one power-hungry group that attempted to gain stance by eradicating communities, usually those of the lower class. They believed owning more property gave them more control, but all it did was harm the innocent and aid the powerful, who hated those they viewed as lesser. All it did was show off their insecurities, the knowledge that they were utterly, completely, entirely useless. Wastes of breath, of space. 

Oh, how you hated them. They were the reason you were here, playing the part of faceless aide to those who offered the right price and hired for the right reason. Whether directly or indirectly, it made no difference to you.

“That’s what we’re tryin’ to stop,” John said.

Chicken chirped idly, hopping across the broad expanse of his shoulder.

You observed her, subconsciously fidgeting with the handle of your cup. Your finger rubbed at the chip imprinted on the material after you’d dropped it some ageless time ago, a habit, wired twiddling.

Small talk wasn’t your strong suit, neither was patience. It was time to address the dead elephant in the room.

“Why did you come here, John?”

“...Callin’ in a favor,” he confessed, hands holding his tea like a lifeline, absorbing its warmth until his knuckles paled to the bone. “I’ll pay you triple for your services, as well. Up front.”

Fuck. 

Triple was a lot. You needed the money desperately, and that would be more than enough and then some to last you at least half a year if you were prodigal, a year if you were frugal. 

More importantly, though, John Price was an old friend to you. You both owed a lot to each other, and a man such as him wasn’t exceptionally keen on calling for aid; so, if he was consulting you, you knew it was deeply serious, and felt compelled to support him.

Exhaling, you mulled over his offer. “Must be dire, if you want a favor.”

“We need as many hands as we can get.”

“Is Kate aware you’re hiring…let’s say, assistance?”

He huffed sardonically, the corner of his lip twitching upwards. “She was the one that sent me here.”

You snorted. “Of course. Men are never good at knowing when to ask for help.”

“Well aware, unfortunately.”

The captain paid no mind to the toy chickadee that had taken to pecking at his beard. Pointless, really, but you couldn’t blame her. She didn’t know any better. She didn’t know she was nothing but a toy in the opinion of most.

Something you could relate to.

“What’s the job?”

He subtly looked around your small flat, ever-vigilant of his surroundings, even in your hideout. You didn't judge him. While you had made sure there were no forms of surveillance, checking your space frequently, the walls always had ears for those nosy enough.

“Not safe to talk here,” he decided. “Got a place not far from here. Will you come with me?”

You considered what you had to do. Cleaning up your workshop (that’s been on the checklist since forever. You were confident you’d get to it, someday), settling on which bills you were going to pay, wallowing in the anxiety of your spiraling thoughts, rewatching your favorite show for the nth time until you passed out on the couch again…

“Sure, why not.”

John waited patiently while you poured out the tea you hardly drank down the drain and filled the cups with water, stuffed a backpack with a few necessities. Kindly, he looked away when you hesitated in front of your workshop entrance, allowing you the privacy of grabbing a few belongings from there. All that time, short minutes that they were, Chicken perched atop the table, watching you scurry around.

You threw on a jacket afterwards, grabbed her, stuffed her into your pocket, and spent a couple minutes meticulously twisting every lock on your door and pushing against it to ensure it held. Paranoia and old habits were hard things to shake – not that you had any interest in doing so. Letting your guard down was the fastest way to getting yourself ripped to shreds.

The rain had slowed into a drizzle, the kind that fogged glasses and stuck to hair, but didn’t soak the clothes. Chicken remained tucked away regardless, your little stowaway, curled in your hand. 

The neighborhood you’d taken to was eerily silent, the lack of noise only interrupted by the flecks of water that landed on worn, moth-eaten awnings and overfilled trash bins. It wasn’t an ideal choice, it kind of sucked, actually, which is why you chose it. It was an ugly thing, though not outright dangerous, and scared away potential straying eyes. Everyone minded their business, for the most part. 

More importantly, it meant that you were safe, in a backwards sort of way.

Less people meant less risk of being found out. Your neighborhood held no interest for the greedy.

You let him guide the way down twisting streets and through narrow alleyways, keeping pace by sheer force of will alone (fuck him and his long-ass strides), until the spaces between businesses and housing grew further and further apart.

Cracks in cement sidewalks made way for flora – grass, flowers, spurge euphorbia. Fragile, pintsized life, seen as so wholly meaningless to most. Unnoticeable, unnoteworthy.

You saw them, anyway. You paid attention to the yellow-green leaves with dried tips that housed a poisonous, milky lifeblood. You took note of the few bees that found their way to this sad part of town, feeding on weak, pitiful blooms of miniscule white and gold. Sometimes, you stopped to observe, to track a dewdrop of water as it raced its way down a stem, or decorate the delicate petals of roses that survived in the rough, somehow.

You’d thought to smell them from time to time, to give in to the idiom, but the smell of roses only made you feel sick in the base of your throat. Flowers weren’t your favorite. Pretty to look at, nothing more. The thought of cutting them from their source of vitality for the sole purpose of letting them wilt in your homestead and flood the space with their decaying scent made you morose. It was a low form of flattery. You preferred them alive and thriving, blessing the world as much as they could.

That way, you could admire from a distance, draw inspiration from their brilliant colors and intricate weaving, and not be suffocated by their overpowering presence.

You were a witness to this world as much as you were a conscious actuality within it.

You preferred to keep it that way, when possible.

No words passed between you, save for the scuffle of soles on solid ground. You doubted he walked the whole way to your flat, he wasn’t soaked to the muscle from the rain, but walking back made sense. It was easier to cover where you were going by twisting and turning every which way.

John seemed satisfied by the time he trotted down a set of stairs that led to a cellar door beneath a store in a mixed use building. A front, presumably, a farce to keep attention away. Respecting that, you kept your sights on the back of his head as he punched in a keycode into the door. A lock hummed audibly, then clicked, allowing him to push open the door.

He jerked his head towards it and you slipped in past him, waiting patiently for him to step inside, too, and close the entrance, sealing you inside the makeshift safehouse.

It was lit up brightly, initially causing you to squint in discomfort before you adjusted. A table, some chairs, a kitchenette, what looked to be a simple bathroom off to the side. Blank, cement walls, a painfully sterile yet somehow mangy feel. All the basic necessities that a safehouse should have.

Which, yes, included two other guys and a few guns set on the table, alongside scattered pieces of paper and various other objects you didn’t bother paying too much attention to.

You stared at the two men, who had stopped whatever it was they were doing (one looked to have been cleaning a gun while the other was…sketching?), and they stared right back, not necessarily hostile, but certainly alert.

John stepped up beside you and planted a firm hand on your shoulder, reassuring. He always was far more perceptive than he let on.

“Boys, this is the mercenary that’ll be joining us for the foreseeable future. Kate and I can vouch for her,” he introduced you, then went from left to right, pointing out each man as he went. “Kyle Garrick and John MacTavish, my sergeants.”

The former nodded his head in greeting. placing the gun down to give you his full attention. Kyle Garrick was the picture of masculine beauty. Plush, slightly rosy, full lips were complimented by neatly trimmed and maintained facial hair along the line of his jaw and upper lip. His dark skin looked smooth and clean, well-nourished; you imagined it might have felt like firm pottery clay. Beneath long, thick lashes were a pair of glossy orbs, a surprising shade of hazel that suited him perfectly. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, polite as can be.

MacTavish, on the other hand, wolf-whistled, shameless in the way he looked you up and down. “Aren’t ye a bonnie thing?”

The first thing you clocked was his accent, distinctly Scottish, maybe from somewhere in the Highlands. The next was that he had a rough sort of handsomeness to him, with high cheekbones, a sharply angled jaw, straight brows, and a strong chin. Cerulean orbs took you in, glinting with mischief and interest alike, such a striking splash of ocean capri that it caught you off guard. Finally, you noticed his mohawk, and you had to hold back a snort.

It was boyish, yet you couldn’t imagine any other style on him, despite having known him for all of ten seconds.

“Johnny,” a voice came from across the room, heavy on the warning tone, and you squeaked, startled out of your skin.

You looked up at the man you hadn’t noticed before, balking at his sheer bulk and, more importantly, how he managed to hide said bulk so well, like a ghost. He easily breached over 6 feet tall and donned a balaclava painted in the image of a skull, dark and brooding from where he was leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his, frankly, greatly oversized chest. It almost made you feel self conscious.

You resisted the urge to squeeze your own tits to compare.

It was his eyes that creeped you out the most, though. 

Chestnut irises bored into you, appearing nearly pitch black from the way his brows shaded his sockets, except for the sliver of amber at the very bottom, ringed by inked lines, a stunning tattoo. It was like he was peering straight through you, carving into your being, flaying your chest open to bare your raw lungs and heart to him.

Price chuckled at your reaction, and you shot him a glare. “And, that would be Ghost, my lieutenant.”

Oh. You hit the nail right on the head with that one.

“Och, c’mon, LT,” Johnny whined. Honest to god, whined. “Jus’ sayin’ hallo tae the lass. Ye dinnae mind, do ye, hen?”

You pulled your lips back and shrugged. You weren’t opposed to compliments. “Not a bit.”

A stellar, blindingly white grin split across his face, cheeks pushing his aquamarine orbs into pretty little crescents. Somehow, it made your stomach flutter. “Knew you wouldnae.”

Kyle sighed, albeit fondly. “Ignore him, Tav’s an incorrigible flirt.”

“Am no’!”

“You’ll bat your lashes at any girl you see.”

Pouting, Johnny folded his arms over his chest. “Tha’s only ‘cos ye dinnae even have tae try. Ye’re such a pretty boy tha’ all ye have tae do is smile an’ the skirts come flyin’ off. Isnae fair.”

Taking the route of ignoring the brooding man, Kyle smiled disarmingly at you (oh, Johnny was right, that smile could win him millions). “So, you’re a mercenary?”

“Yep,” you confirmed, popping the ‘p’. MacTavish’s indignant outrage at being brushed off amused you greatly.

Only for Ghost to scare the fuck out of you a second time by speaking up again, reminding you of his existence. His voice was heavy, gruff, laced with a thick Manchester accent. It fit the image he cultivated, if it was worth making your heart shoot out of your ass. “What’s your experience?”

He’s vetting you.

Best thing you could do was entertain him. Building trust was all about answering questions when asked.

“Mostly infiltration, data gathering, tracking folks down via digital footprint, that kind of stuff,” you said.

His eyes narrowed microscopically. You picked up on the detail, and knew he was trying to pick apart your answer. He wanted more information, proof you were an ally, someone that could be relied on.

Someone who was capable of getting her hands dirty.

“She’s worked with Laswell before,” John tacked on. 

He wasn’t wrong, you and Kate Laswell were familiar with each other, and had partnered up on a couple occasions. Mutually beneficial, of course. You gave her eyes on the ground, got your hands on slippery intel, and she sent you rare and difficult to find parts, items that money couldn’t buy, not easily. With her, it wasn’t about the cash – she did still pay her fair share, mind you – but a deeper sense of sympathy, of understanding.

She knew what it was like for you, to live in this world, this hellscape that did everything it could to tear you down. She knew, so she took care of you in little ways when she could. You never said no. You couldn’t afford to, regardless of how much you wanted to bristle and proclaim total indepence.

Sadly, it just didn’t work like that.

You’ve had time to come to terms with it. The fact that you couldn’t exist solely on your own terms, that you needed people, as few as you could get away with.

Which ended up being two: John Price and Kate Laswell.

You had every intention of keeping it that way, no matter how much time you were going to spend working with this motley crew, how close you’d have to stand beside them. 

It’s fine. You had plenty of familiarity with keeping people at arm’s length. 

“What kind o’ data?” Johnny questioned, having turned a chair around to sit in it backwards, beefy forearms (wow) propped up on the backrest. 

“Money wires, shady activity, locations at given dates and times. Honestly, most of it is pretty boring and mundane. I don’t go out on the field super often.”

“An’, when ye do?”

You hesitated, shifting your weight from one leg to the other. You hated the attention, hated how it made you break out into a nervous sweat, antsy and jittery. It made you look suspicious, especially with a crowd like this. The limelight was never meant for you, and you respected that wholeheartedly. 

“I do what I have to do to finish a job,” you eventually muttered, less than satisfactory, but at least it was something.

It appeased three of the four men present. John by fact that he already knew what your job entailed, had worked with you before, and Johnny and Kyle for reasons beyond you.

Ghost?

Earning his trust would be difficult, if possible at all. Something that had to be forged in battle, in the heat, drenched in blood next to one another.

You’ll never earn their full trust, a voice whispered in your head. You’ll always be a lying bastard, and nobody likes a lying bastard.

If you won’t let them in, what makes you think they’ll let you in?

Because, your life depended on it.

That was always your justification, and it worked well for you every time you had to use it. Every day of your life was lived on the edge, constantly on your toes. You were cogent in keeping everyone three paces ahead of you, maintaining distance. 

For your sake, and theirs.

It’s just temporary, anyway, you mused. I’ll get this job done, and we’ll all go our separate ways.

That was the plan you had set up for yourself. You were good at honoring plans. It was practically coded into you, an instinctive habit to heed a set path from point A to point B. Get the job done, get out, get paid. Well, that last one was going to happen first, if John was to be believed about paying you up front, but the concept remained the same.

The only trust you needed was confidence that they’d cover your back in the field, and you’d cover theirs.

You knew John had yours and, if the praise you’d heard from him about his boys was to be believed, they would have yours by proxy, too.

They’re good men, those mutts. Maybe not good people, but none of us really are at the end of the day, huh? Not in this line of work. Least of all an old rag like me. We get our hands dirty so the world can stay clean.

So, in return, you’d have theirs. It was simultaneously the least and most you could do.

For the sake of keeping the world clean.

Each man tensed when a squawk sounded from your jacket pocket, and you watched as Chicken climbed her way out, determined to escape her warm, fluffy prison. Without a lick of hesitation, she jumped up and immediately flew over to Kyle, circling his head a few times before she dropped onto his shoulder and promptly began nuzzling into his neck.

“Uhh…” He was frozen in place, taken aback.

You smirked, bemused that your partner-in-crime’s loyalty lied in who she considered prettiest. “Looks like she likes you.”

Johnny cooed, radiating golden retriever energy, invisible tail wagging as he checked out the clockwork contraption. “Who’s this wee thing?”

“That’s Chicken. Found her and fixed her up. Seems she’s whipped for Garrick over here.”

“Ye named ‘er ‘Chicken’?”

“It’s because she’s a chickadee. Couldn’t think of anything more fitting.”

Kyle laughed softly, raising a finger to lightly brush against her belly. “Hello, Chicky. You’re a sweet thing, aren’t you?”

“She’s a little dumb,” you shrugged. “Curious creature. I think that’s how she got lost the first time, having flown off from her owner. Ended up in a ditch for me to find.”

John rubbed a hand over his chin. “She was pecking at my beard earlier.”

“I do believe she was trying to preen you.”

“Preen me?”

“That,” you cocked your head to the side, “or find bugs to eat.”

Kyle and Johnny burst into laughter at their captain’s perturbed expression, to which Chicken joined in with little chirps of her own.

Velvet and warm, that’s how it felt, seeing how the boys interacted with one another. Playful jabs and ribbing, continued cackles, Johnny’s harmless attempts to snatch the bird away from Kyle. It was painfully obvious how much they cared for each other. To be able to act like boys, the brothers-in-arms that they were, was a rare and precious thing. If nothing else, you hoped you could come away from this experience with the memory of happiness, however small it may be.

“What about her original owner?” Kyle asked as they calmed down, admiring the small chickadee’s bronze sheen.

The smile you wore fell away, replaced by a deep, harsh seriousness.

“If people are going to treat her like she’s nothing more than a toy, then they won’t miss her when she’s gone,” you grit out slowly.

“Seems like it’s an important topic to you,” he murmured. Gently repositioning Chicken in his hold, he stretched out his hand to you, offering her back – much to Chicken’s displeasure. The angry series of squawks let you know exactly how she felt about leaving her Prince Charming “Here.”

You shook your head. “Keep her. She likes you more than me, anyway. Just make sure to take good care of her, or I’ll hunt you down and turn you into a clock.”

He snorted, but accepted the gift, lifting his other hand to scritch at Chicken’s tiny little forehead. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The puffed chickadee appeared more than delighted to learn Kyle would be keeping her, leaning into his touch and chirping up a mechanical storm. You laughed under your breath, relieved to know he’d treat her well. You could see it in the way he cradled her, in how he pet her with only one digit. They were smitten at first sight, who were you to take that away from them?

“If she ever starts getting faulty or breaks, let me know, and I’ll repair her again.”

“I will,” he promised.

It brought you joy, knowing how much they loved each other already. A small fragment of light born from a new love in a dull, muted, dark world. If you could only do one thing, it would be this; adding as many spots of color to each and every day as you could. There was cheer to be found in even the weest of lifeforms, if one knew where to look. Sometimes, all they needed was a guiding hand.

If that was all you could be in this world, you’d happily take up the mantle.

You felt John fill the empty space to your left, unhurriedly, purposeful. Effortlessly, he pulled you into a different place, a different existence, present yet far away from the others. 

“Do they know?” You spoke in a muted tone, a conversation meant only for you and the captain.

John hummed his dissent. “I didn't tell them.”

You weren’t able to turn away from the sight of Kyle and Johnny playing with the former’s new companion and partner in (legal) (ish) crime. Greedy, that’s what you were. Greedy for any scrap of mirth you could find, whether yours or someone else’s ��Won't that come back to bite you in the ass? What with trust and all.”

He gazed at you for a long, drawn out moment of time. Then, his hand eclipsed your upper back, comforting and reassuring in its weight, in the warmth that seeped through your clothing.

“I'd rather deal with a few angry soldiers to protect you. I know my boys, they're loyal, they don’t hate your kind, nor would they turn you in. I just don't want them to treat you differently. You're one of us, now.”

How true were his words? He knew his team better than anybody else, you knew that, but even the most open of people kept secrets. Was there really no judgement to be had in this circle, or was it a matter of distance? 

From afar, caring was difficult, but once brought together, prejudices came to light.

So, how long could precarious balance last?

Your attention shifted from the pair of sergeants to the geist that lingered in the shadows, and a chill ran down the length of your back when you saw him, looming as he always had. It wasn’t his size, nor the way the light seemed to avoid him, no.

It was the fact that he was already staring at you.

banners by saradika-graphics ♥

lemme know if there's any formatting issues or if I missed anything <3

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

https://www.tumblr.com/teaandcrowns/784888323271540736/i-think-there-is-a-lot-of-merit-to-the-point-of?source=share

I'm interested to know what do you think about this?

The irony of Zutarians pretending people act like ZUKO is an "imperfect" victim while Aang is the "pure" one when half the shitty, shallow readings of the story, including zutara nonsense, consist of downplaying, or full on erazing, all the bad things Zuko did and all the ugly signs of trauma and bad coping mechanisms he showed during the show, while acting like Aang is the devil for going "I'm literally 12 and didn't sign up to be your unpaid executioner, please stop ignoring my objections to murdering a man just because I'm being FORCED to be the chosen one."

Now, let me be clear, I fully believe that Bryke's opinion that Zuko and Katara would be a "dark" ship and that people who like it are doomed to only have bad, toxic relationships is bullshit... but let's not act like Zuko wasn't one of their favorite characters, that they put the most care into writing, from day one.

And let's not erase the fact that Zutarians act like Zuko was being oh so supportive and "accepting the real Katara" in The Southern Raiders, when in the actual episode he literally only wants to help her get revenge because she hates his guts and he feels entitled to her forgiveness and friendship, and doesn't take a second to think about the psychological consequences this will have on her. It's only near the end of the episode that he's actually empathizing with Katara, and thus understanding why she chose not to kill Yon Rah after all.

AND let's not pretend that this episode, that was approved by Bryke, didn't do something incredibly gross by going "Oh, Katara is not mad at Zuko for, ya know, supporting genocide and joining Azula, thus helping the Fire Nation essentially win the war, dooming the whole world and leading to Katara's best friend dying right before her eyes, she's UNFAIRLY angry at him due to PROJECTION of a different trauma just because he's from the Fire Nation."

Once again, I don't agree that Zutara would be inherently toxic, just incompatible. But considering this bullshit they approved of? If Bryke had made it canon they ABSOLUTELY would have made it a deeply toxic relationship that would NEVER be acknowledged as such due to their obvious bias of "Everything is okay when Zuko does it."

And that's the criticism people throw at zutarians. They write this ship as a super unhealthy, toxic dynamic, and not only try to pass it off as secretly healthy and empowering instead of just embracing the chaos, but also try to use "They both lost their moms! (nevermind that Zuko's mother is alive" or "Zuko was going with her on this murder mission that would have absolutely messed them both up for life, just so he could get what he wanted" as proof of true love instead of codependency and, yes, trauma bonding.

Zutarians need to get over their bullshit "This is the empowering, feminist, mature ship" complex and just admit "This is unhealthy, but it's fun to write/read and I like exploring that dynamic." No need for demonizing Aang, or pretending the fandom and writers don't put Zuko up on a pedestal, and especially no need of going "If you talk shit about Zutara tropes, you're the kind of person that hates survivors and is biased against sex workers"

(Seriously, where the fuck did that comparison even come from?)

[deedjre]

honestly it'll be forever until i get around to drawing these guys if ever (currently working on a longer art project) so i might as well just say these now and get them out of my notes

Voice of the Storyteller - haven't nailed down a concrete personality, but i picture them as being covered in blood. due to the angst. this guy's the core, like hero Voice of the Bystander - funnily enough i had this guy on standby. someone who feels they cannot do anything and tries to distance themselves from a situation they can't be distanced from. Voice of the Exhausted - i also had this one on standby. someone who is simply tired of dealing with everything. Voice of the Swayed - very easily swayed. can be convinced into believing most things with very few concrete beliefs and opinions they would stand their ground on. Voice of the Justified - okay so take cheated. and make him worse. they excuse their behavior and blame others for actions they have committed, justifying it by any means. Voice of the Petrified - an overly anxious idiot who overthinks and is scared to the point of stunning themselves. Voice of the Crybaby - just the emotional core. cries easily. complains a lot. they all complain a lot, though. will definitely let themself cry if they know it means getting out of a situation. Voice of the Unyielding - take stubborn. and just make him more overtly self destructive. though also make him weak as all hell. and you get this fucking thing. yeah just "i didn't hear no bell" achievement, basically. Voice of the Roseate - hopeful and patient to a fault. will do little to try and improve a situation, simply hoping it to be better very soon. also a gambling addict. Voice of the Runner - really wants out of situations. avoids them like the plague. and also with humor sometimes. the runner thing can be figurative it's just like an avoidance thing. Voice of the Wiseacre - overly confident smartass who will leak say what their thinking if someone around them is dumb enough to infuriate them. they are also fairly smart, they're just pretentious about it.

A challenge for our Slay The Princess community on Tumblr: Make your own versions of The Voices! Like, choose 11 key traits of yourself [Or use the ones from canon] and figure out who they are! Draw them, even, if you're artistic!

Reblog this with whatever you come up with! I wanna see the creativity of this community!

[institute-of-oddology-founder]

uhhhh whoops [hands Dr. Pines a memory vial from @aroace-get-out-of-my-face 's Memory Vial au where Stan dies from the memory gun]

uh oh

[A vial pops out of the journal like a pop up book]

How did you even-... Nevermind.

[Ford popped the vial into his monitor and watched as Stanley's life flashed before his eyes.

The first few memories, he recognized. The sound of the ocean washing ashore with laughter, with nonsensical stories they both made up to tell each other, the birthdays the spent, the Stan O' War.

The memories sped by, years of growing up together going by so fast, barely even 5 minutes before they reached the final year they spent together. Ford watched as they were both called to the office with only one staying behind. He watched as Stan listened in on the conversation, sliding down the door as he realized his brother would leave him behind.

Ford watched Stan enter the gym after school hours. He'd be lying if he said he didn't dread to see what truly happened that night. He believed Stan to be a horrible person, a traitor who never wanted Ford to have a better future. Now, he wanted to believe Stan never did it on purpose, that what he thought would contradict with what he knew Stan was like.

Ford watched Stan hit the table, barely touching the project. Ford watched as Stan scrambled to fix his mistake. Ford wanted to scream.

Ford wanted to scream and let everything out. He believed Stan to be such a selfish person, a complete opposite of what he truly was, because if he believed the latter, that Stan really didn't break the project on purpose, then that would mean he was kicked out for nothing. That Ford had let his 17 year old brother—barely even an adult—to be kicked to the curb outside of their house.

He quickly realized his mistake when he saw the confrontation much clearer.

They were both so young, naive, closer to 12 than they were the next time they'd see each other.

Ford saw all the pain right after. The failed scams, the shattered hopes, the ever-growing amount of states he was banned in. He saw the prison, he saw too many hands on his brother, a blurry haze, ropes on his brother's wrists and ankles as he was shoved into a trunk, his brother's legs too close to the edge of a bridge.

He saw the postcard.

He saw how fast Stan drove just because Ford called for his help. Because at his core, that's what he always did. Help him.

He saw the fight, the burn, and he saw how it diverged from his dimension. Stan punched Ford, and he couldn't be more proud.

He saw Stan's desperate pleas as Ford disappeared into the portal. He saw the years he spent juggling his work and fixing the portal.

Ford couldn't help but put his hand out to his brother. He couldn't help him. He couldn't protect him. Couldn't comfort him from his own hurtful words against himself. Every comment, every hair pull, every slap to his own face felt like a stab to his heart.

The only good thing that came from it was being able to see Stan age. He saw how he would've looked if he lived past 27.

He saw a few kids in between. His employees.

He saw how he pretended to not care about them, but smile at their antics.

He saw two more kids. Infants. Shermie's grandkids. He saw how Stan held them and refused to let go.

He saw their summer.

He saw his return.

He saw how Ford had given Stan a deadline and a deal. To kick him out when the summer ends.

All the memories whizzed pass again. Every bonding moment, every hug from Dipper and Mabel, every cold shoulder from Ford, he saw it all.

He saw the end of the world.

Ford saw Stan mourning the kids and his brother, fates unknown in the apocalypse.

He saw the argument, how Ford couldn't keep his mouth shut and get along, how he couldn't even give him a simple thank you.

He saw Stan's sacrifice. How he punched Bill in his stupid looking eye.

"Heh, guess I was good for something after all..."

And Ford sobbed. He was already shaking, trembling at how much pain he still went through had he not taken the journal.

The memory ended, and so did Stan's life.]

Thank you for showing me this.